Devlin Potter: Part Two
by GingeredTea
Summary: "Voldemort did it all so I'd be like him, did you know?" Severus had no idea, so he just let the boy speak. "He decided not to kill me, not because I was a child, not because I was afraid, but because I looked just like Tom. He wanted to know what he would have been like, if he hadn't been raised by filthy muggles." Sequel. Voldemort raised Harry's son. Now he's going to Hogwarts
1. Chapter 1

**This is part two in a series about Devlin Potter. Please read part one "Devlin Potter's Story" before reading this part. **

**I hope everyone enjoys. I made this chapter nice and long so we could get to the important stuff. This is all unbeta'd and is the first draft, so expect a rewriting, but after I'm done with the first part of the series. :)**

**ON WITH THE STORY: **

The Grand Hall, in Devlin's opinion, certainly lives up to it's name. He's seen it before, of course, but somehow, surrounded by the group of first years, his hair all wild from the boat ride, and the whispers chattering around him, all make it seems especially enchanting. He stares up at the ceiling, in awe as always.

Suddenly his eyes snap away from it as a hand clasps around his own. It is Maria, having found him in the crowd.

"Those boys really wanted to sit with you," she says softly, "so I let them." She doesn't know their families and he doesn't tell her. Devlin never speaks to her about Death Eaters or red-eyed monsters. He protects her from those things.

"Yeah, think it's cause of my dad, ya know?" She nods knowingly.

"I'm nervous," she says, leaning close to him. For some reason, this makes his heart pitter patter against his chest. "What if we end up in different houses?"

"Maria, you _know_ we will, but that's okay. We can still be friends." She nods, but it is a nervous nod.

Together they listen to the Sorting Hat sing his song and then suddenly he hears, "Potter, Devlin" and finds her hand loosening and his feet carrying him forward. His hair is covering his face, but he is too nervous to do anything about it. He looks up through his fringe to Flitwick, who is preforming the sorting.

The hat goes over his head, covering his eyes.

The first thing he thinks is that it doesn't smell quite so nice.

_A couple dozen hair-neatening charms and freshening charms will do that to a hat. _

He freezes, immediately drawing up his shields.

_You'll only make it longer for yourself. I have to see._

'No'Devlin thinks.

_I don't share,_ the hat says gently, _indeed I am incapable of sharing. Except for vague details with your children - but that shouldn't concern you for a long time._

Devlin doesn't quite believe him, but he's starting to hear murmurs of impatience.

'I have to be in Slytherin,' he thinks.

_Really? Prove it to me, young wizard._

So Devlin does, showing him his time with Voldemort, opening the flood gates.

_So brave,_ the hat whispers. _You'd do well in Gryffindor like your father, too._

Then the hat begins humming, shifting through his memories.

_So brave, yet so determined to prove yourself. So clever, too. Better be..._ "SLYTHERIN!"

He slid off the stool and walked calmly towards the Slytherin table. He'd known already, of course. Known he was more clever than brave, more determined to prove himself than willing to sacrifice.

Devlin sits down next to a dirty blond boy, who had sat with him on the boats. _Kendal Green_, he recalls. He knows he's a Death Eater's son by the way he had fought to sit next to him.

"Hi," the boy says, grinning at him.

"Hello," he says. There are a handful of first years who had clearly been told to look out for him and befriend him, but this message seemed to have skipped the second and third years. Yet he catches a few of the oldest students eyeing him and recognizes a few from their resemblances.

"I'm Scorpius," a blond boy says, extending his hand across Green to reach him.

"Malfoy," Devlin says curtly, but does not take the hand.

"Yes, how did you know?" The boy asks, preening.

"You look like your father," Devlin says smartly, his face blank. "I don't like your father."

Clearly the boy had been told on no uncertain terms to become friends with him, probably by his father, who had probably asked out of desperation, because the boy's eyes widen and he see's fear in them. Fear that he will not succeed. Fear that his father will be punished. All Devlin can think is, _good_.

He makes a point of speaking to Green, who is an avid dueling fan. Devlin and he find much to speak about, although the boy is all full of theory and no practicals and Devlin is full of both, but can't hardly mention that outright.

OoOoOoO

Devlin's suspicious are proven true when the sixth year Prefect stops him on his way to his dorm and pulls him aside.

"My name is Zale Smith and if you need any help at all, you come to me, alright? Do you have a pet? I have a right smart owl." The mention of pets was clearly not just for show - Devlin knew where to go if he wanted a letter sent to his grandfather.

"My dad says maybe next year," Devlin responds easily. "Hogwarts has their own, right?"

"Yeah, but they're not always reliable."

"Oh, okay."

"You come to me if you need a letter sent home, alright?"

"Yeah, okay."

"Tomorrow morning, meet me early, before breakfast, and I'll show you where all the classrooms are."

Devlin nods and turns around to head upstairs.

OoOoOoO

Smith and he wander the hallways in near emptiness, as he shows Devlin where each classroom is. They stand staring at the stairs from the highest point and Smith explains the complex pattern. Devlin takes in every single word. He, a perfectionist, recognizes the opportunity to make sure he doesn't fail later today.

"You know some wand work?" The older student asks. Devlin would have lied to a Prefect from any other house, but he nods to this boy.

"You're ahead of most, but don't let that distract you. Professor's shouldn't know you have a head start, alright? Don't be afraid to get it right the first time - they'll just blame it on being Potter's son - but don't right out show off. Only someone who already knows shows off." Devlin nods, not bothering to tell the boy he already knew all this or that he'd already gotten this speech from his father.

"Right see - that bottom one always goes left after the third floor one spins right." Devlin nods, eyeing the moving stairs. "Are you going to remember this?"

"Yes." The boy nods curtly, having expected as much.

"Alright, it's probably breakfast time." Together they make their way to the Great Hall. Devlin glances at the staff table and notices Hermione staring at him carefully.

The older boy guides him to the right side of the table, where the older students are gathering. "I'll introduce you," he says quietly. Devlin knows what he means 'I'll introduce you to the people you should trust.'

OoOoOoO

The Charms Professor, a small man named 'Fitwick', welcomes Devlin into his first class of the year. His squeaky voice rang out and asked everyone to have a seat, and Devlin followed the order, sitting somewhere in the second row. Maria, pushing through the Slytherin crowd, grabbed a seat next to him. For a moment Green seemed perturbed, but then he shrugged, as if reminding himself of a mission with a great reward at the end, and sat on his other side. Maria raised and eyebrow.

"I'm Maria," she whispered across Devlin. Green swallowed, but reached his hand out.

"Kendal," he said softly, shaking her hand. "Pleased to meet you."

Devlin gave Kendal a knowing smirk and the boy rolled his eyes.

_I'm gonna make you friends with a Gryffindor,_ the smirk said.

_Only because I have to be friends with you,_ the other boys eye-roll said.

Still, Devlin liked the boy well-enough. Freddie was chatting with Thomas and Maria waved them on, motioning that she'd found Devlin.

"They've been very erm...protective of me." She said quietly, leaning close to me. He smiled and reminded himself he'd have to stay good friends with them too. They could watch Maria when he couldn't. They would have her ear more often too.

"We will be working on the Wingarium Leviosa charm," the tiny professor is saying. Devlin turns his attention to the man and so do his neighbors.

When he releases them to try on their own, Devlin allows himself to succeed the first time. Flitwick is hovering before him in an instant.

"Very good, very good," he squeaks, clapping. Green growls and tries again, Maria finally bests the feather after her fourth try. Devlin turns his wand to her and whispers '_Wingarium Leviosa'. _She giggles as strands of her hair float into the air. Even Flitwick chuckles softly. Green, who has finally mastered the charm, grins.

oOoOoOo

Even though Devlin has visited the castle many times with his father, they had done so mainly during classroom hours and he realizes that he has never met the Transfiguration professor before. He brushes the bit of nervousness that has stolen over him off and steps into the classroom.

She is busy speaking with a Gryffindor girl at her front desk who seemed to have lost her wand already. She has a stern face that he thinks would be pressed to look otherwise and she wears her grey hair in a tight bun.

When she looks over, he watches those stern pursed lips go lank. Her wrinkled face goes very still and her hand trembles with the quill held atop a piece of parchment. He makes his way into the classroom and is startled when her eyes follow him. He is the one making her look so stricken? He frowns and turns around, approaching her desk. She actually takes a step back.

"Are you alright, Professor?" He asks, concerned.

"Yes, yes. What is your name, young man?"

"Devlin Potter, Professor." She regains some of that color.

Yet unknown to him, is Minerva's annoyance at a certain Headmaster who had mentioned the boy was a bit peculiar and came off cold at first, but had failed to mention that along with having some of Riddle's mannerisms, he _looked _just like him! Obviously, the Headmaster found this amusing, nearly giving his Deputy Headmistress a heart attack.

"Well, take a seat, Mr. Potter!" She suddenly says firmly. He follows the order, sitting further back in the classroom. The Professor does not look at him for the rest of class, does not call upon him, does not, indeed, appear to remember he exists.

At the end of class he is so surprised to hear his name called to stay after class that he jumps a little. The Professor quirks an eye, as if Devlin, having the very common automatic response to being startled is quite unexpected to her.

He wanders over to her desk, watching Green and Maria leave longingly. In trouble on his first day; the perfectionist in him screams in a tantrum.

"Mr. Potter, you are not in trouble," she says kindly, looking at his hand, tightening around his book bag strap. "I merely wanted to apologize for my...shock with your appearance earlier."

He frowns at her. "My appearance...shocked you?" Normally he's sure this would count as an insult, yet something seems off, so his temper stays cool beneath his skin. "I'm sorry, Professor, but I do not understand..."

"I went to school with Mr. Riddle, you see," she said, still trying to look kindly at him. "I assure you it won't happen again, Mr. Potter."

He frowns again. He'd always known he looked _like_ his grandfather, but he must look _very_ much like him.

"Of course, Professor. Sorry to have startled you, Professor. I loved the lesson. May I go now? That is, I'm not trying to be rude, but I really do not want to be late for my Flying lesson..."

There is a glint of understanding in her eyes.

"Oh no, you wouldn't. In fact, I think I must come with you. I missed the beginning of your father's, you see."

He frowns, but he is not about to tell a Professor what they can and cannot do, so he nods politely.

OoOoOoO

The handle is warn, the wood nearly splintering in especially used areas and the metal of the kickstands are losing some of there patina where the feet would rest. Still, he can feel the magical charms humming beneath his fingers. He breaths in and out with the magic, feeling it pulse against his fingertips.

"Alright, now brooms down. Put them next to you - that's right - and at my command say 'up' firmly. You have to _mean_ it." Says the young girl before them. Devlin nods at Ginny, who he has met on occasion. He wonders if anyone has told her he's a good flyer, or if he'll get to impress her. He looks around at the Hufflepuff's doing class with them; there are only one or two who seem less than petrified about the class.

"Now," says Professor Weasley and there is a chorus of 'up' but Devlin can only hear his own, only feel his own, reaching out towards the broom. It rushes into his fingers and he soothes it's well-worn charms, weaving the tendrils of magic together until it purrs beneath him. He can feel it in his fingers, up his arm, in his heart, playing like music in his chest.

"Mount up. Don't worry about going far, we'll get to that point. Don't go above the walkway roofs!" She is shouting near the end, eyeing a couple of the Slytherin's who _clearly _have handled a broom before.

Devlin feels that rush and then he is in the air. He minds her orders and stays below the walkway roofs, but she hadn't said anything about how far or fast they could go, probably because she knew the charms, as they had been, would have prevented the latter.

He can feel the wind whipping at his face, at his hair, and he throws his arms out, gripping with his legs and shouting. He is grinning and he hardly hears the Professor ordering him to _get back now_ until he glances at where Professor Mcgonagall had been and notices Dumbledore there along side her, both of them trying to look firm. He's never seen firmness reach Dumbledore's eyes and it doesn't now either.

He comes to an elegant stop, grinning sheepishly up at his Professor.

Off to the side, his wolf hearing catches Mcgonagall as she says: "_That_ is a look entirely his fathers!" Dumbledore is chuckling.

"Sorry, Professor Weasley. It's just, when I get on a broom...I sort of lose it."

Her eyes are dancing even as she scolds him.

OoOoOoO

"That was bloody brilliant!" Kendall says after class, punching into the air.

"Have you always been able to fly that way?"

"I suppose so."

"Next year, what position will you play?"

"Oh, I don't really follow the game. I just like flying."

This comment incites a bit of a riot and all the First Year Slytherin's begin arguing that it doesn't matter what _he_ wants, it's what's good for the house.

He nods politely throughout the walk from the courtyard to the Great Hall for lunch.

"Expelliarmus is an excellent spell. You may think it rudimentary, but even grown wizard's turn to it as their first defense. If you can unarm your enemy, you have won more than half the battle. So, let's talk again about the wand movement," Remus lectures. Devlin stares ahead, looking attentive but thinking of something else. He already knows how to disarm an opponent.

"Mr. Potter, why don't you try and show us?"

He rises from his chair and walks over to Remus.

"Like a duel?" He asks and Remus chuckles and winks at the class.

"Sure, let's do a duel, Mr. Potter."

Devlin had been allowed to use his wand for little else than protection, so he had never had a cause to show his handiwork to anyone, especially the werewolf. He saunters over, coming to stand right next to the Professor. He holds his wand to his face, takes a step back, slashes it through the air, and takes another five steps back. There isn't a lot of room in this classroom. Remus is looking unsettled as realization that Devlin might actually know something seeps into his eyes.

"Arn't we to bow, Professor?" He asks politely, shaking the man from his thoughts. They bow to each other.

Devlin is grinning.

"Just the one spell, Professor?"

"Yes," Remus says.

"Alright."

Remus nods and together they shout "Expelliarmus."

The hall is hushed and the Ravenclaw's in the room look on, sure that Professor will overpower student, and so there is a collective gasp when the blue light fades and it is Devlin with two wands in his hands.

He walks forward quickly and places the wand in Remus' hand.

"Thank you," Remus says, fingering the wood. No wizard liked to lose his wand, even in a friendly duel.

"Of course, Professor." He retakes his seat, going back to thinking.

After class, Remus calls him to the front desk. Maria and Green hang behind and Remus finally decides to speak in front of them.

"That was some marvelous work," he says.

"Thank you Professor."

"You have been taught dueling." Since it is stupid to hide from Maria or Green that he had lived with Voldemort for four years of his life or that he'd been taught _things_ there, he simply nods.

"Quite a bit, sir," he says politely.

"There is a club for dueling. I think it would do for you to join it. Normally it is off limits until third year, but if you show Mr. Dagerdy what you're made of, I'll write a permission slip."

"That sounds like fun," Devlin said, not bothering to conceal his grin.

"Indeed."

And so it was a week later that Devlin found himself with an appointment with Mr. Dagerdy, a seventh year Gryffindor. It had been arranged in the Defense room, with Remus overseeing, and Maria and Green had pleaded to witness until Devlin simply gave in.

Gregory Dagerdy couldn't seem to decide who to question about Devlin's ability - the boy himself or the professor who had written such an odd permission slip.

"Er...so how much do you know about the traditions?"

"Pureblood or more modern?"

"Either...er...both."

"I could probably recite quite a few books published before Professor Lupin was born and a few published after my own birth." Lupin sends a look his way, but Devlin knows it is harder than that to make the man take offense. He is, after all, best mates with Sirius Black.

"Yeah, but how _practiced_ are you?"

"Oh," Devlin says slowly. He makes a show of drawing out his wand, nice and slow, then whips his whole body around quick as lightning, keeping his arm perfectly angled and shouts - "Diffindo!"

The tapestry hanging from the wall rips. He cocks his wrist and says, more softly, "Reparo," and the rip is gone.

"Well, you're certainly quick, I'll give you that."

Gregory pulls out his own wand and shoots a light tickling charm his way. Devlin blocks the charm easily enough. He needn't even his wand, but he remembers Zale's words about not showing off and uses it at the last minute. Next the boy sends a round of trip jinxes his way and on the fifth round, he manages to get one in edgewise.

"I'm a bit out of practice," Devlin admits, picking himself up quickly.

"Out of practice?" The boy asks, eyeing Remus as if to question his truthfulness. Remus simply shrugs. "We'll take you. We compete though, so you have to have your Mum and Dad sign a paper giving you permission to leave the castle and all that."

"Are parents allowed to come to the contests? I'm really not sure they'd sign otherwise...they're a bit...paranoid."

The boy laughs.

"I suppose there isn't a rule against it." Devlin nods and they shake on the deal.

On the way down the hallway Green thumps him on the shoulder and declares him awesome and brilliant and then realizes he has a Potion's essay to write. Maria and he have on of their few free periods that match up and Devlin has already written the essay due later today.

"Lets go for a walk!" She says, tugging at his arm. He smiles into her brilliant blue eyes and nods. They head out onto the grounds of the school, over the rocky hills, and into the magnificent openness. They end up sitting by the lake under a tree.

OoOoO

The moment the hands lay on his shoulders he knows they are a Death Eater's and he knows he cannot fight. It is unlikely he will win and should he fight back and lose, Voldemort will suspect his loyalty has shifted. He glances at Maria, who is looking on in horror at the man Devlin can't see and the wand he can feel against his neck.

... YES, I HAD TO STOP HERE! *EVIL LAUGH*

This, of course, is just the spot I've been teasing you with for a while. BUT, there is a NEW 'upcoming', coming.

UPCOMING:

"Breathe," Voldemort whispers, gripping his shoulder in a less-than-comforting way. What he really means is: people are watching you, get it together. But apparition coupled with the Crucio-like curse has exhausted his magic and his body is panicking momentarily. It is forgetting to breathe.


	2. Not Your Devy Anymore

**And now, onto the angsty parts you've all been waiting for, for so long. **

The moment the hands lay on his shoulders he knows they are a Death Eater's and he knows he cannot fight. It is unlikely he will win and should he fight back and lose, Voldemort will suspect his loyalty has shifted. He glances at Maria, who is looking on in horror at the man Devlin can't see and the wand he can feel against his neck.

"Don't hurt her," he says firmly. To her he says: "Maria, run!" She is nodding, crying. She runs off and he watches her and then turns around and says, "well, are we going?" He must appear loyal.

He feels like he's being tugged through a very small hole. Portkey. He breathes in and breathes out. He is being dragged towards a clearing. He drags his wolf to the surface – he is going to need it's strength.

He is thrown down roughly and he knows that, in front of him, sits Voldemort. He breathes in and breathes out and finds himself thinking a thought he hasn't in a long time: Stop thinking. Stop Feeling. Just do what has to be done.

He looks up.

"Hello, _Devlin,_" Voldemort says and he cringes at the emphasis on his name. The name his father gave him. The name his muggleborn grandmother had loved.

For a moment he thinks of racing towards Voldemort and throwing his arms around the man; of trying to convince him his loyalty has never wavered. Then he thinks of his father's parting words when he had left for Hogwarts. He had called him a young man.

He is no longer a small child.

He lifts himself to his feet. It will not do to merely be brave enough to look up from the ground.

He is a young man.

"Hello, Grandfather," he says softly. He tries to be respectful, like how Snape expects him to act around him in public. His mind braces for attack.

"Has Potter not managed to erase such a notion from your mind?"

"He never would have stood the chance. My mother has always been honest about my heritage with me." Around him, he thinks he hears a couple gasps from the Death Eaters. He has no time to spare his mother's personal secrets. He knows she values his life far more, because she has told him more than once.

"Why did you not come back to me, Devlin? I had thought you more loyal than that..." He can feel eyes from all around him, underneath their masks, boring into him at the powerful word. He, a child, so loyal to the Dark Lord as to be expected to escape Harry Potter and return? Devlin realizes, not for the first time, but most completely, just how hidden he really had been. There are no men here he knows. He can't smell one that is familiar. Headquarters had always seemed so big, because he had been so small. It had all been there for him. All to keep him hidden except from Voldemort's most trusted men.

Had Voldemort really been that afraid of losing him?

"I had thought you would come for me," he whispers and the hurt is there, because it is real, even after all these years. "I was only a child."

The Death Eaters around him shift uncomfortably, certain of a pending Crucio.

Voldemort lifts his wand and Devlin's eyes go amber.

And then his skin and muscles are on fire, while his veins have gone freezing cold, yet unable to quell the fire that surrounds them. He takes a deep breath, fighting through the fire that it erupts in his lungs. For a flickering moment he thinks he is under Crucio, but then he realizes that the searing fever and the freezing chills don't go down to his marrow or reach his eyes or brain. He can think perfectly fine. He'd be dying now, if it were Crucio.

Grandfather doesn't want to kill him.

He breathes again.

Grandfather doesn't want to kill him.

'If you tell a fool something enough times, he believes it.'

Not for the first time, Devlin hopes he has a little bit of fool in him.

Grandfather doesn't want to kill him.

"I came without a fight!" He screams and relishes in the fact that he can formulate words. The pain is excruciating but somehow, since it isn't as all-consuming as Crucio (which he had been expecting), he can numb himself of it, just a bit. "I left willingly!"

"Don't lie to me," Voldemort hisses. He's risen from his chair. Devlin snaps his eyes open and peers up, into the face that is now within an arms reach.

"I'm not lying!" He says, still burning, still freezing.

"I'm not a fool, boy," Voldemort says, leaning forward, his crimson eyes very near his own green.

It's not only his eyes that are near him; it is his wand.

Devlin braces himself for the real thing. Voldemort's hand grabs his upper arm, pulling him up and to his face.

"You had better think carefully about what you tell me, Devlin." And for a moment Devlin is a little boy again and he bites his bottom lip. All he can think about is surviving and the only way he knows how to do that is to make the monster happy.

His fear must be clearly visible in his eyes, because Voldemort's rough grasp around his arm relaxes just a little. He can feel the pressure on his mind, like a fog that is seeping slowly into his thoughts, clouding them. It is searching. Searching for times that he has shown disloyalty, but Devlin won't let it find those things.

Instead he thinks about examining the Potter wards, sitting outside the classroom at Hogwarts, being watched by Sirius, arguing with Molly about always being a prisoner. He thinks about Malfoy and his fear and hatred of him.

And then, he is remembering something he hadn't entirely meant for Voldemort to see at all, but the fog had found anyways.

_"I don't know how to love," he is saying. "I don't understand what I see in your eyes…"_

_His father is at the door; there is fear in his eyes._

Voldemort releases him from Legilimenecy and Devlin finds himself staring not into the deep red eyes of Voldemort, but eyes that mirror his own, just a bit darker. His grandfather's eyes.

"Can you stand?" He asks him, his grip still tight on his arm. Devlin thinks about the question seriously, then nods slowly. "I will give you a moment before Apparition."

Devlin looks up suddenly, startled. He wants to say _why_ and _where too_ and _please don't, _but he knows each of those would be met with a painful curse and he's still recovering from the previous one. He feels himself shifting back into his old mindset.

"Do you believe me, Grandfather?" He whispers, unable to help himself. His breath hitches in his throat when those eyes, red again, turn toward him.

"You have been punished already for your defiance," and even though he yearns for the new-found comfort of his parents, he nearly falls down in relief at those comforting words. It's all done. He's already lived through the punishment. Grandfather never punishes him twice for the same crime.

_Breathe,_ Geoffry's voice whispers in his head. _It'll be alright, Devlin,_ says his mother. _I'll never let him take you again, I promise, _sobs his father.

_Stop thinking. Stop feeling. Just do what has to be done._ It is his voice that silences the other memories and shoves them roughly aside. All those promises had been useless. Nothing was ever alright, but he had known that, even when she'd said it. Known it each and every time she had whispered it in his ears.

He looks around himself once, but there is no Harry Potter come to rescue him. No Alexandra, no Dumbledore, and Geoffrey is locked up in the castle. He shivers. Geoffrey had been his protector; what would it be like without him?

"I'm ready, Grandfather," he says softly, steeling his nerves for the inevitable; he belongs to Voldemort.

Voldemort pulls him close and Devlin relaxes a bit; his Grandfather won't let him fall. He's not mad at him any longer.

"Meet me at the Headquarters," Voldemort is explaining to his men. "Avery and Smith, you know you're part." Devlin watches them disapparate ahead of everyone. He wonders faintly what they're job is, but throws the idea from his head. Slowly, inches his hand inside his pocket and withdraws the tiny pebble he'd managed to transfigure the mouse into in Transfiguration from his pocket and lets it drop onto the ground by his feet.

_POP_

_oOoOoOoOo_

"What happened?" Harry asks the sobbing girl, as she wraps her arms around her father's neck and sobs into his neck. "What _happened!" _

For a moment he fears she will refuse to speak to him, like the last time, but then she suddenly straightens and turns towards his panicked face.

"It was York. I don't know his first name. He's a seventh year, Slytherin. He came up to us and I thought he was gonna tell us off, since he's a head boy and he's a bully and he doesn't like me 'hanging around Mr. Potter' but then he put his wand here," she pokes her neck with her finger, "and Devlin knew. He knew before I knew. He told him not to hurt me and then told me to run."

"Did he say anything else?" Harry grinds out, his teeth set against the pain in his chest. Maria has never seen him like this. So angry. So hurt. In so much pain that it almost disappears because it is too much.

"He didn't fight. I looked back. He didn't fight," and now she is sobbing, but makes herself keep looking at him.

"Go get the boys records," he snaps at another Auror who nods and scurries off.

"Ron?"

"Round up his year mates?"

"Yeah."

"You gonna canvas the area?"

"Yeah."

Maria watches as they both walk in different directions, as if they simply knew what the other would do.

"Come on, Maria. We have to go." She looks up at her father and his hand, tugging at her own hand.

"Where, Daddy?"

"To tell Mrs. Potter."

OoOoOoOoO

"Breathe," Voldemort whispers, gripping his shoulder in a less-than-comforting way. What he really means is: people are watching you, get it together. But apparition coupled with the Crucio-like curse has exhausted him and sent him into a panic.

"Now," Voldemort says, leaning close to him, his fingers digging into his skin. "Breathe now, or I will make you."

Devlin didn't want to know how one magically knocked the wind back _into_ someone, so he makes a huge effort and feels air fill his lungs.

He opens his eyes and the thought that comes surfacing first is: _it's not the same_.

"We moved Headquarters," Voldemort says, but Devlin knows he is lying by the way his Death Eaters, just removing their masks, frown at the statement. "To clever for your own good still, hmm?"

Devlin looks over at him, sidelong, and nods. Inwardly he is pulling his thoughts back, behind his shield. Voldemort is still testing him.

The Death Eaters are still observing him intently. He can see the question on the tips of their tongues, but they are smart enough not to ask.

"Stop shaking," Voldemort whispers by his ear, "You are more capable than this."

Except Devlin hasn't _had_ to be more capable in a long time and he's finding that his strength has dissipated with years of in-use.

"This is my heir, Dubhán. You will make sure no harm comes to him by any hand but my own. Do you understand?"

The shocked faces around them nod in acknowledgement. And then, with a wave of his wand, Voldemort dismisses them all. Some Disapperate, while others go about whatever business they might have been assigned beforehand.

Voldemort tightens his grasp on his shoulder and drags him into a large tent. Wards sizzle as they walk through and Devlin knows nothing that happens inside of here will be heard beyond the fabric walls.

"Let us clear the air about a very important fact," Voldemort begins, twirling his wand between his fingers, just as he had the first time Devlin had ever met him. That first meeting hadn't went well for Devlin and he fears if he does not step carefully, neither will this one. He had been punished already for _a_ crime, not necessarily for _every _crime Voldemort felt he had committed. He eyes Voldemort carefully and waits for him to finish. "Where is your loyalty? To whom do you belong?"

It isn't a difficult answer. Devlin doesn't even need to lie. He knows the answer to the last question and it is the only one that truly matters to Voldemort. He doesn't really care about Devlin's loyalty or respect - he only cares that Devlin knows to whom he belongs.

"I am yours, Grandfather." _Finders keepers._ Devlin belonged to the monster and nothing his mother or father had ever said had ever swayed Devlin of this notion. It was why that backpack had stayed leaning against his desk at home and it was why it is in his dorm room now, still full of the supplies he would need to run away back to his owner. He knows to whom he belonged, although it is different from _where_ he belongs. He belongs _with_ his parents, but he belongs _to_ Voldemort.

The wand stops and for a moment Devlin thinks Voldemort does not believe him, but then Devlin feels that fog and he lets it search his feelings, because he has nothing to hide about this. He knows it. He doesn't need to pretend.

"Good boy," Voldemort says and the wand slips back into its holster up his sleeve.

Voldemort steps towards him and as he crouches in front of him, his eyes go green. Devlin relaxes. This is no longer the monster, this is simply his Grandfather. Those green eyes would never hurt him like Voldemort would.

"You look like me as a boy," he whispers, reaching out and touching his cheek. "Just like me."

"I know." Voldemort looks startled at his confirmation and looks into his eyes.

"How would you know?"

"I kinda figured I must when Professor McGonagall nearly feinted the first time she saw me."

Voldemort laughs a little. "Oh yes, I knew Minerva while I was a student."

"Dumbledore looks at me funny too," Devlin admits and then, because he knows his Grandfather will appreciate it, he says "He was over at Potter's once and I played a trick on him."

"What trick did you play on Albus, hmmm?"

"He asked what kinds of magic I could do already and I said: I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them."

Now Voldemort truly laughs and tousles his hair.

"Oh you little trouble maker!" He says fondly. There is nothing that makes him happier than unsettling Dumbledore.

"But how did you know to say that?"

And now Devlin panics a little bit and his Grandfather's eyes narrow as the truth sits between them, Devlin too worried to voice it out loud. He knows he must. He knows every second that he does not Voldemort grows more and more suspicious.

"They taught me," he says softly, looking right at Voldemort.

"Taught you what?" And suddenly Devlin is just as frightened of those green eyes as he has always been of the red ones.

"Legilimenecy," he whispers, fear clear in his voice. "They made me. They kept attacking me and I knew if I didn't learn, they'd see things about _you_."

"Look at me," Voldemort says firmly and Devlin quakes a bit at the hard edge to the command. He does as he is told, hoping some part of him is more like Voldemort than his looks.

"_Legilimenecy,_" Voldemort whispers, lifting his wand and aiming it at Devlin. Devlin finds himself standing before Severus Snape. There is contempt on his face as he peers at Potter and as he turns to Devlin.

"_Remember, anything I see is mine to do with it as I wish," the mans says and Devlin's fear is clear in his quaking limbs. Devlin lets Voldemort believe he is afraid for Voldemort or maybe that Devlin is afraid for himself. _

Now he is _sitting in front of Potter and he is looking at him with that fear and sadness because Devlin has just admitted to stealing some of his books and dark trinkets from his office and hiding them in his wardrobe and Devlin, in his anger, attacks Potter with Legilimenecy and discovers that at that moment, his foremost thought at been Devlin's similarity to a little boy in an orphanage with stolen trinkets in his own wardrobe. _

"Why?"

"Because they thought I distrusted them for fear of your reprimand. They felt that if I could hide things from you, I wouldn't worry about loving them."

"And?"

"And I pretended they were right, because I wanted them to think me a normal boy and send me to school with Emma, where I knew you would find me."

"But they did not."

"No, because I am a werewolf. So I kept pretending, because he promised me I could go to Hogwarts. And it is at Hogwarts that you found me, just like I knew you would. I went willingly with that boy, because I knew he'd bring me back to you."

"And if I ask York?"

"Who?"

"The boy who brought you to me."

Devlin swallows.

"He will say I didn't fight. He will tell you I asked him not to hurt the girl I was with." He bends his head and blushes. "I like her."

Devlin thinks he is mad but he makes no comment about the girl.

"Tomorrow you will prove your loyalty. You are no longer a little boy. You will prove it to me, without the need for deals or promises."

Devlin looks at him and tries hard not to look worried.

"How will I do that, Grandfather?"

"You will follow my orders, my Dark Prince," and with those words and a swish of his hand, he summons a familiar vial of potion and leaves Devlin in this unknown room. He hears a lock click and the murmur and sizzle of a spell.

He drowns the potion first; he still hasn't forgotten the lesson he'd learned when he was four, then he looks around the room. It is no sleeping room. There is no bed. No comfy chairs. No tables. Only hard wood floors and one straight back chair with books lining every wall.

But this is not the first time Devlin has been punished and Devlin knows his job.

His punishment is not meant to be sleepless; he had made that mistake the first time and felt the pain the next day at training. It was not to sleep in an uncomfortable chair; he'd made that mistake as well and Grandfather had cursed him and said 'Are you a filthy muggle?'.

No, he wasn't. He was a wizard.

Wizard's didn't sleep on the floor or in uncomfortable chairs because they could _change_ things and so Devlin eyed the chair and used his wand to transfigure it into a small bed. He took a book and turned it into a comforter. He took another and made a pillow. And finally, he made a small ball of light and set it afloat above his head.

He was a wizard and he knew his transfigurations had to last until morning, so that Grandfather would see he was a wizard worthy of looking just like him. Worthy of the boy he himself would have been, if he hadn't been raised by muggles.

He lays in bed, pulls the covers over his head, and tries to comfort himself in the fact that eye contact is needed to preform Legilimenecy. He could think whatever he wanted beneath these covers.

He closed his eyes. He chose to think of Emma.

_Please don't be mad, Emma. Please don't be mad at me for what I really am._

He wasn't her Devy at all. He was the Dark Prince. The property of Voldemort.

**How did I do writing Voldemort?**

**Sorry, I forgot the upcoming: **

**...but instead he decides that _he _is going to train Devlin in dueling. Sometimes Devlin thinks he is merely making an excuse to beat Devlin until he is aching all over. When they are through, Voldemort always heals him, gently and delicately, although not necessarily kindly almost like he's some valuable toy. **

****P.S: the next chapter is ready. Please review!


	3. Of Planning and Execution

The next morning rises and Devlin is sitting on the edge of his already made bed before Voldemort even opens the door. He takes one glance at his transfigurations and simply orders: "put it back now."

For a moment Devlin worries the game has changed. When he had been eight his Grandfather would have at least said 'I see your charms are getting better', but now he hardly seemed to care.

Voldemort had to care. If he didn't care, Devlin would die.

"Yes, Grandfather." He begins to reach for his wand, then thinks better and swishes his hand instead. The bed turns to a chair and rights itself. The comforter and pillow turn to books and neatly place themselves on the shelf and the orb of light zooms back into his hand, where he catches it and blows it out like a candle. For a moment he thinks he sees a glimmer of pride in Voldemort's red eyes.

"It is breakfast time," he says firmly, leading Devlin out of the room and into another. It is bigger than the room Devlin and Voldemort had dined in when he was eight and Devlin suspects the nights Devlin had eaten with Geoffrey, his grandfather had been here, hosting large parties and meetings. He sits down near his grandfather, hoping he notices he has no fear or hesitancy towards him.

"You said, I was to prove myself to you today, Grandfather."

Voldemort looks up from his plate of food and regards Devlin's face, which he knows must look awfully nervous.

"Yes."

"Will you tell me how?"

"There will be a ceremony tonight."

Devlin had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

OoOoOoOoO

His eyes were shadowed and defeated. His lip was bleeding. There were bruises on his wrists. He was on his knees in his tattered Auror robes, simply looking at him.

"Hey there, Kiddo," he whispered. Devlin wasn't sure how he managed it at all. He sounded drunk. Devlin wondered if they'd given him just enough healing potions to make him a tiny bit presentable. To make sure he didn't die before Devlin did his part.

Devlin swallowed. His grandfather's eyes were upon him. He'd made himself quite clear before he'd pushed Devlin into the circle of Death Eaters and in front of this man.

"_Kill him, Devlin." _Devlin knew his fate if he refused. Devlin knew he'd humiliate Voldemort and Devlin knew how much that would infuriate the Dark Lord. Devlin wondered if Voldemort had always meant to make him do this or if it was the separation. Had Devlin just been fooling himself?

"You shouldn't be here, kiddo. You should run." There is no desperation in his voice. He is too drugged to have the emotions behind his words.

Devlin lifts his wand.

_Please don't hate me Emma for what I am._

He opens his lips.

_Please don't be mad at me for deceiving you. I am just a boy, too scared to die. _

He knows he should make a show of it, but he doubts he could successfully cast Crucio and so he'd only earn himself punishment.

He takes a deep breath and clears his mind. He isn't like the other boys in his class. He's different.

'_You look like him.' _

'_Who, Albus?'_

'_Like Tom Riddle. You must be careful that you do not act like him, else people will feel they are justified in judging you by your appearance - and blood. It is important at Hogwarts to be yourself.' _

He opens his eyes and looks into the mans hazy gaze, so full of pain and hurt and terror and thinks now they will have every right to judge him for something other than blood or appearance.

"Avada Kedavra."

The man looks horrified as the green light comes closer, but it pass around him like smoke.

Voldemort is beside him in a second. His spidery hand on Devlin's thin shoulder. He leans down.

"You have to focus," he says softly, in that same voice that he had always taught Devlin spells in. It isn't a kind voice and there is an edge of annoyance and distaste and even harshness, but Devlin is familiar with it, and so he clings to the one and only familiar thing. "You have to _want_ him dead."

"What if I don't? What if I don't know him, so I can't want him dead? Is there a way around it, Grandfather?" His voice is full of fear and wonder. Voldemort sighs, as if he's explained this many times before but sees little reason in having too. The man is still staring in horror, to weak to move, and Devlin suspects he and his Grandfather are under a privacy spell.

"You don't need to know him. Think of _someone_ you want to hurt. Is there someone you want to fall and never get up?"

"Yes," Devlin growls lowly.

"Who?" There is a gleam of pride in Voldemort's eyes.

"Potter," Devlin lies easily, but when Voldemort has retaken his seat and Devlin has his wand aimed again, it is not his father he pictures, it is the men who dragged Maria into the camp all those years ago. He tries to remember that feeling; the way he had been ready to fling himself from Geoffrey's arms to reach her. How he would have cursed them with his most hated curse. How he wanted to shout 'let her go' but Geoffrey's hand had been on his mouth, muffling his words. He would have ripped them from her and...

He lifts his wand again.

"Avada Kedavra." And this time it isn't smoke at all, but a forceful light that penetrates the mans skin and bones and goes straight to his heart. He falls forward - dead.

There is no more terror in his eyes. No more pain in his brow. No more anticipation.

There is nothing. He feels nothing now.

Devlin stands there for a long time with his wand still pointed where the mans heart had been. He can't stop looking at where he had been, just minutes before.

"Go ahead," he hears his grandfather whisper, but Devlin somehow knows he isn't speaking to him, so he lets the words fall past him. He doesn't sound angry at all.

"Yes, Master," someone else says softly, but Devlin still can't bring himself to turn away from the empty spot and the dead man right below.

There is the sound of movement and Devlin lowers his wand. They have come to collect the body. Except when he allows his gaze to waver towards the sound, it is not a Death Eaters he sees, but a huge snake.

Nagini.

"_Food,_" she hisses, her tongue flickering in and out like some hypnotic device. When she nears the body her jaw opens wide just as Devlin's eyes do.

"No!" He shouts, before he can stop himself. He isn't sure why he says it at all. What should it matter what happens to the man now?

Slowly, predatorily, the snakes head turns towards him and her tongue flickers out towards him while her body moves closer to him. He scrambles backwards, fear so huge that he can't steel himself and pretend to be better than it. Voldemort's regard is intrigued, but Devlin knows he won't be rescued. Devlin suddenly thinks his grandfather hadn't meant to let him live at all. It had all been a game. He hadn't needed to kill the man.

He is on his hands and knees and suddenly he feels a patch of grass beneath his hand and looks down. Somehow, it is important and for a moment he can ignore the monstrous snake coming towards him.

'_Look, Devlin, I can make it bloom!' Emma's face flashes before him, her hands full of a magically blooming flower. 'Can you do it?'_

'_I don't like flowers,' he had said, half defensively. 'Let me see if I can...' and suddenly where once there had been a strand of grass was now a snake. He had made to speak to it, but then, realizing his company, quickly let it down into the grass from which it had been made. _

Suddenly he remembers. The fear slinks away to a shadowed corner.

"_Do not come nearer!_" He hisses, rising quickly to his feet. He clenches his hands at his sides. Voldemort has half risen from his chair. "_I forbid you to harm me!"_

The snake stops and her head lifts from the ground, swinging between himself and Voldemort. Her master remains without a command for her and so she stills herself.

"_A small speaking human," _she hisses softly, her tongue flickering in and out.

"_I am _not_ small!"_ He says indignantly, despite himself and the environment.

"Oh, indeed not, you are actually quite tall for an eleven year old," Voldemort drawls, humor lacing his voice. Although Devlin can't be sure, he thinks he is speaking English, because the Death Eater's laugh.

The red eyes turn towards him and Devlin keeps the regard. He isn't feeling anything. Isn't thinking anything. There is no danger in their shared regard.

"Well done," Voldemort says. "Next time you will do better."

Devlin looks up at him numbly and nods.

"Of course, Grandfather."

OoOoOoOoOo

"May I go in there?" He asked the guard of a tent. The man looked at him and was about to respond, when another voice called out.

"Rupert, did that boy just _ask_ you _nicely_ to go in there?"

"Yes, Bella," Rupert calls over to the female Death Eater. Devlin takes a step away from the guard, who she is approaching.

'_Oh, Bella is _very_ loyal, but she is far too eager to be left with a child's safety...' _

"You are the Dark Prince!" Bella says indignantly, like he doesn't have a clue. He nods, to affirm he isn't stupid and he does _know_ this.

"Yes, and your point?" He drawls.

"You don't _ask nicely_ to be allowed somewhere! You give commands!"

Devlin regards her through narrowed eyes. He'd like to be rid of her. She just seems too unhinged.

"While I appreciate your advice, I will follow my Grandfather's rules, until he deems necessary to inform me of a change."

The commotion at the door has distracted those inside, and Devlin turns back to the Guard only to see his Grandfather smirking.

"The boy is right Bella - about doors. Her advice could be applied soundly to other things, though."

"Yes, Grandfather. May I come in?"

"Oh yes, in fact, you _should_ come in. We're trying to gather some information." Devlin steps into the tent, not quite certain what that means, except that it sounds like studying, and he's good at studying.

It isn't any kind of research gathering that Devlin has ever seen. There is another Auror, beaten and bloody, on the tent floor. His eyes widen at Devlin's entrance.

"Devlin!" The man shouts, blood spraying from his mouth. He fights against his magical restraints anew.

"Silence that man!" Voldemort shouts and Malfoy and another blond Death Eater cast the silencing charm. The man fights again, shouting silently. Devlin doesn't need his voice to understand that the man is shouting _his_ name over and over again.

"This man knows something about Potter and Dumbledore's latest plot." Devlin nods, feeling the oddest thing happening to him. For a moment it is like time slows down, just long enough for Devlin to feel every emotion leaving him through his toes, and then time resumes. "I want you to make him scream."

"Of course, Grandfather," he says softly. He takes a step forward; he can hardly feel his feet beneath him. He raises his wand and it is an odd sensation to feel his arm held up by the body he must possess. "Crucio."

The man is withering, screaming himself hoarse even though Devlin can't hear him. Devlin tries to remember what the spell feels like, but finds that has left him too. If Voldemort were looking, he'd notice that Devlin's eyes were almost pure amber.

"Malfoy, take the silencing charm off."

But the man isn't just screaming his name, he's screaming something else too.

"It's okay Devlin. It will be okay." When he hears his own voice, he stops and just moans. Devlin feels nothing. Nothing good. Nothing bad. His grandfather had always said that if you tell a fool something enough, they'll believe it, and Devlin must be a fool, because it is as if his mantra 'don't think, don't feel, just do what has to be done' has finally sunk into his head. And body. And bones. And marrow. And...everything.

"Make him tell us, Devlin!" His Grandfather commands.

"Tell me what Potter is doing!" Devlin shouts, still feeling nothing but hearing the rage and anger that must be fueling this spell, in his voice.

The man gasps for air.

"Devlin! He's trying to rescue him! Say's he'll die trying!"

"Yes, you've told us," Voldemort drawls. "But _Devlin_ has clearly already chosen his side."

"It's not too late, Devlin. Run!"

"Kill him, he is worthless." Voldemort waves a dismissive hand. Malfoy raises his wand. "Oh no, Draco, not you. _Devlin_ will kill this man." Devlin can feel his gaze on the side of his head. Devlin nods. Voldemort smirks.

He lifts his wand. Crucio dissipates and the man breathes in and out, but then Devlin lifts his wand again, and there is a look of such sadness and fear and regret on his face as Devlin utters those two words and the tent is lit green.

Devlin feels nothing. Nothing good. Nothing bad. It as if he isn't there at all.

OoOoO

Voldemort has decided that Devlin should know the more practical end of dueling, not that Devlin hadn't known enough for his age as it had been. When he was younger, a whim of this nature would have been followed by his grandfather assigning his training to a Death Eater, but instead he decides that _he _is going to train Devlin in dueling. Sometimes Devlin thinks he is merely making an excuse to beat Devlin until he is aching all over. When they are through, Voldemort always heals him, gently and delicately, although not necessarily kindly - almost like he's some valuable toy.

Today Devlin has been foolish enough to be caught by a stunner, and Voldemort is chuckling.

"Too much showmanship, Devlin, too little spell work." He always calls him Devlin when he's failing. Like a reminder.

He can't even talk. Voldemort is getting closer, his wand held out before him in a threatening manner. Each footfall towards his frozen body makes his heart beat faster. He feel his magic beneath his skin, humming in alarm. It does not like being restrained. He's closer now. His eyes are red. The monster. He's the monster right now. Devlin's magic hums faster, and now it feels like a thousand wasps under his skin. It is almost painful.

"Such a dangerous position you've gotten yourself into, Devlin."

The wasps are beating against him, making every muscle and tissue and bone in his body ache with his magic. He cries out, clenching his hands into fists. For a moment he wonders why the monster has suddenly stopped and tilted his head, but then he realizes that he can move his hands. He can _move_.

He leaps up onto his feet.

"Expelliarmus!" He shouts, and in the monsters surprise, the wand comes willingly into his hand. His magic is buzzing beneath his skin, his blood rushing through his veins, his heart drumming in his ribcage. He feels a surge of pure power and relishes in the feeling.

Voldemort sneers and one wave of his hand has his wand soaring from Devlin's fingers. Devlin thinks he'd meant to summon his own wand too, because it twitches in his fingers, but Devlin commands it to remain where it is. It is _his_. It falls still. Voldemort sneers again, but there is something in that sneer. There is weariness.

It is in that instant, in that intense regard, that Devlin realizes something: Voldemort is right. He would have been more powerful if he hadn't been raised by muggles and near-starved. He would have been more powerful if someone had taught him dueling and provided him with any book he asked.

Devlin was going to be more powerful.

"I have work to do - go entertain yourself until dinner."

He strides out of the room. Devlin rubs his arms, but his magic is still buzzing almost painfully beneath his skin.

OoOoOo

Four months later, directly after his transformation, Voldemort finally leaves. He doesn't lie this time. He says he is going on a raid. When Devlin had been younger, he would have said he had "business to attend to" or "people to persuade", but that little ounce of caring seems to be gone.

"Potter will be there," he says, looking at Devlin's face for any emotion, but Devlin doesn't grant him any.

He assigns Devlin two guards, both competent Death Eaters who he can tell are miffed to be missing out on the action. Devlin regards them over a book he is pretending to read. They are average size, but the way that they move, the way that their eyes look to him every couple minutes, tells him they know what they are doing.

_So do I._

"Want some coffee, Carl?"

"Yeah, I'll wait with the kid." So they weren't going to be stupid enough to leave him alone. What a shame. It would have been better for them.

"Alright."

The other man gives him a look, like the warning looks all adults give children because they think they are always up to no good, before he exits the room to get coffee. Devlin withdraws his wand slowly and lets the tip of it rest over the edge of his book.

"Avada Kedavra." Green saturates his vision for a moment, then it all returns to normal, except now 'Carl's' body is slumped in the chair. Devlin stays very still for a moment. Instinct tells him to _run_ as far and as fast as he can, before the other man comes back, but Devlin's brain tells him otherwise. These are the only two Death Eaters responsible for him. If they are both dead, no one will report him missing until Grandfather gets back.

Devlin walks slowly over to him and arranges him so that he looks like he's fallen asleep. He settles himself at the table with the dead man.

"Don't think, don't feel, just do what has to be done, Devlin," he whispers softly. It helps that he's been preforming this curse at least once a month.

The moment the other wizard comes into the room, turns around from closing the door, and see's them both at the table, he goes white.

"Avada Kedavra."

He falls down, just like the battered Auror's, just like 'Carl', just like his Grandparents. This time, Devlin doesn't need to stay. He steps over the body on the ground.

He tucks his wand between his teeth and transforms into his wolf, who isn't quite as small as he once had been, but not as big as he will be someday, and creeps out of the tent. He knows he must work quickly if he is to make it close to the camps border, wherever that may be, so he only hides when absolutely necessary. Time is more important. He feels the sizzle of the wards much later. In the distance, he can hear the crack of apparition and knows soon his guards will be found, dead.

He transforms into his human self, plucks the wand from his mouth, and begins working on the wards. Every second brings him closer to the men finding him. Right now they have probably disapparated to the edges of the wards, walking the parameter. He finds the wards easy enough to break through, though. They resist his charm minutely - Voldemort has made changes to them - but in the end, Devlin just tweaks his own spell to the same degree, and soon he has a hole to climb through.

Wand back in his mouth, ears and fur and tail in place, he slips through the small spot and races through the woods. He has no idea where he is going, but he knows he won't be detectable by any normal measures.

He jumps over logs, slides beneath brambles, and into a river. He walks in the shallow water for a while until he is sure his scent is lost. It is here, where even his scent will be masked, that he takes a breath and transforms. He only has a moment; he will be detectable if he stays like this, so close to the camp. He thrusts his wand and tries to remember his father showing him how to make a Patronus. He has an intuition he can use it as a point me spell, without having to remain in human form. He's been studying the charm for a month now.

What had he said?

'_You have to think of something happy. I think I'll think about that day I saw you in my office.' _

'_Expecto Patronum!'_

Devlin takes a quick breath and thinks of Emma, her eyes sparklingly up at him. While he is thinking of her sparkling blue eyes, he also tries to think of safety, of needing to know where it is. How to get there.

"Expecto Patronum!" His magic hums against his skin, feels his intentions and needs moulding the magic as it races from his wand.

**A/N: How did you like it? I really enjoyed writing Devlin's more tough side. Hope I did well enough. The Bella/Devlin scene was me being unable to resist a dash of inspiration from The Darkness Within series by Kurinoone. **

**I wonder what Devlin's Patronus will look like...oh yes, that right, I already know. *evil laugh* Review and I will tell you! **

**Thank you for everyone who added this story to their favorites (and the first part too), subscriptions, and whatnot. I'd love it if you'd take a moment to review, too. :) **

**UPCOMING: **

**The Death Eater snarls, his eyes growing more amber. Devlin grabs for his wand. The man grabs his foot and Devlin struggles, turning himself around so that his back is crunching the leaves as he tries to get free again. The man raises his wand. Devlin raises his. **


	4. The Silver Wolf

"Expecto Patronum!" His magic hums against his skin, and he feels his intentions and needs moulding the magic as it races through his blood and out his wand tip, into the world.

All at once a wolf, large and fierce looking, leaps out of his wand and rushes away from him. He can't question it, so he transforms quickly and races after the silver form. It's magic will lead him to safety.

It doesn't rest and it doesn't slow and Devlin has to resort to biting his own tail a couple times to wake up again. Finally he can go no more. He collapses. The Patronus, seemingly understanding, saunters back to him.

He transforms back into a boy, ready to use his wand.

"You will tell me, if they come?"

The great wolf gives a sagely nod and Devlin's eyes shut immediately.

He is woken by a howl and at once his wand is back between his teeth and his hands turn into paws. The Patronus gives him little time before it is running off.

He races through the brambles, climbs over the fallen logs, throws the dead leaves into the air in his wake. A moment of puppyness over takes him in a rush, and he growls (because he cannot bark with the wand still in his mouth) in joy at the falling leaves. The silver wolf gives him firm _look_, like a mother or brother wolf, and he falls sober again, concentrating on the earth beneath his paws.

They come across a little stream and Devlin, as his wolf still, drinks hungrily. His whole chin is soaking wet. He drags his head further and flops down, letting the water bubble over his snout, cooling him down. His eyes roam around him, noticing the silver wolf standing guard of his wand. The wolf is still as a statue and Devlin knows there is nothing worrying around him, or the wolf would sense it.

Then a little movement across the tiny stream catches his attention. It is a squirrel, lapping at the stream a wee bit up, having not noticed him. Something in his wolf, not this transformed wolf, but the werewolf buried deep inside, comes to the surface and Devlin all at once realizes how _hungry_ he is. Hunger equates itself with this little animal, and Devlin finds himself lunging forward, catching the little creature around it's stomach.

He's not sure about Animagi immune systems, but his werewolf doesn't give him space to consider. He tears into the small animal, the silver wolf simply watching him. He rinses off in the stream and, feeling renewed, runs a few more miles before finding a little over hang of rocks and crashing for the night. There is blood on his shirt now, but he just stares at it. Scurify is on the tip of his tongue, but he can't preform another spell without risking his location. He settles down for the night, as the boy, too afraid to not be able to use his wand if he's attacked. He shivers until his magic hums beneath his skin like a heating charm.

When he awakens he simples stares into the woods for a long moment. It is so _empty_ here. So silent. There are no eyes upon him. No one to prove himself too. No mothers to coddle him. No fathers to fear disappointing. He thinks, for a moment, that he might be able to stay here forever in this beautiful silence.

Then he thinks of sparkling blue eyes. One Emma's another Maria's. He closes his eyes and prays in his head that they are both alright. It would be easy for grandfather to punish him by hurting them.

He has to know.

He climbs onto his feet, goes to the stream again, pulls off his shirt, and rinses it off. He can't stand the blood anymore. It makes him think of other blood. He pulls the wet shirt over himself, shivering. It is certainly a way to wake up, he thinks, as he transforms. He gives his body a couple shakes, and the silver wolf and he are off again. The silver wolf never walks. He always runs.

They usually don't pause until night fall, but Devlin is exhausted and the little squirrel just isn't cutting it for food. He transforms so he can think more clearly. He's so _hungry. _He licks his lips. Perhaps if he were just sitting still, that squirrel would have been plenty, but with all this endless running, his body is using up far more energy than it is taking in. Just to prove it's point, it growls at him. He growls back. The silver wolf tilts his head, as if to question the saneness of a boy who growls back at his own stomach.

"I'm just so _hungry_," he says to the wolf, who is suddenly rushing to his feet. Devlin looks around him, but there is nothing to fear. The hackles on the silver wolf are raised.

_Pop_.

There is a Death Eater standing a few yards away. Devlin feels his stomach clench and he swallows the bile that rises threateningly into his throat. The dark robed man turns slowly on the spot, sniffing, and Devlin feels his heart stop as amber eyes lock onto his own. A werewolf.

"Hello, little pup," the wizard says, not at all unkindly. There is a hard edge to his voice. Devlin feels wards sizzle into existence and he knows he's can't disapparate out, even if he knew how. Perhaps the man is also hoping to keep others from apparating _in. _Devlin puts the thought aside to ponder on later.He takes a step forward. The silver wolf has bent his head in a threatening manner. The man appears to notice the wolf at last and pauses for a fraction of a second.

"Nice Patronus, pup," the man says, "but he can't hurt me. Now be a good boy and come along. The Dark Lord is very upset with you for running away."

Devlin growls again. His wand is already in his hands. Lack of food makes his thoughts a little sluggish and he tries to convince his body it just needs to do this one last thing for him. _Then we'll rest and hunt, I promise. _

The man takes another step forward, and so does Devlin. This seems to disturb the man.

"Do you honestly think I'm afraid of you?" He drawls, trying desperately to look confident.

"Look at you," the Death Eater says, motioning with his non-wand hand. "Do you think _I'm_ afraid of _you?"_

Devlin snarls. His mind may be fuzzy, but his magic understands his desperation and it is buzzing beneath his skin.

"Diffindo!" The man tries to block, but his curse slices through his shield and into the mans skin. He begins to bleed from his shoulder. The werewolf looks at him for a long time. "Voldemort has been teaching me to duel. Do you think _he _plays fairly?"

The man lunges forward, but Devlin side steps him. He lunges again, and Devlin jumps into the air and kicks his jaw, _hard_. There is a sickening crack. Any other man would be out of commission, but werewolves are made of tougher stuff. 'Too much showmanship, too little magic,'Voldemort would be saying. But Merlin, Devlin _liked_ the showmanship part. Magic was innate, predictable, _easy _for him, the showmanship added immensely to the rush.

They circled and lunged and parried. Devlin made the earth rumble. There was fear in the man's eyes now, but also an insane determination. There was something off about the man. He was feral. Not like Devlin, not like Geoffrey. No, this was one of those werewolves that Grandfather _never_ let him near.

"Just you wait until I catch you, pup," the werewolf growls and lunges again. Devlin sidesteps him. The werewolf balances his body on one hand and throws his legs out to the side, tripping Devlin.

"Expelliarmus," the werewolf shouts, as Devlin lands face down on the earth. His wand leaves his hands, but defies the wizards command by going barely half way to him. The Death Eater is on top of him now. Devlin can hardly breathe. He snakes his hand around Devlin's neck and drags him into a standing position, suffocating him.

The silver wolf is circling them, knowing it can't really defend. The man is reaching for a portkey. His arm is impossibly strong against his neck.

_I don't want to die._

He feels himself slipping away into darkness, but like always, the wolf catches him and keeps him _there. _Devlin's eyes turn amber. There is a new strength to his limbs.

The man is about to say the incantation to activate the portkey.

He takes advantage of the mans strength, clawing at his arm and throwing his legs into the air. Just like he's holding onto a bar. He bends his knees mid swing and kicks the man. The man doesn't let go, but for a moment his grasp had slipped and Devlin manages to claw himself up so that the man's arm is now around his collarbone instead. He growls and sinks his teeth into the Death Eater's arm. The portkey drops to the ground. Devlin throws his head backwards and the man lets go. He can smell his blood already.

The Death Eater snarls, his eyes growing more amber even as his nose runs with blood, clearly broken, and his arm bleeds from where Devlin had pierced the skin. Devlin grabs for his wand, and spits out the mans blood from his mouth. The man grabs his foot and Devlin struggles, turning himself around so that his back is crunching the leaves as he tries to get free again. The man raises his wand. Devlin raises his.

"Crucio!" Devlin hisses, not knowing what else will stop him. Stupify will cause him to freeze, but then he'll be frozen to Devlin. Devlin doesn't want to be touching him. The man rears back, in pain. He summons invisible ropes and binds the man to a tree, then he cancels the torture spell. The man falls forward, slumping in his bindings. He picks the wizard's wand up and snaps it in half. The man howls in agony of an entirely different kind. He transforms in front of the man. There is no reason to hide - Voldemort already knows.

The silver wolf leads him on.

It is not the last time he hears that distinct 'pop', but every time afterwards, he runs before someone catches him. He doesn't speak at all. He'd spoken right before the Death Eater had found him. He sleeps as wolf. Perhaps he has tracking spells on him?

He sits beside the silver wolf and watches the first snowfall from beneath an old fallen log. It is beautiful. The air is crisp and clean and it has the smell of Christmas. Yet, he also can't shake the disturbing fact that now he will leave footprints. He looks up into the sky. The stars sparkle innocently. The moon stands like a jewel against it's starry backdrop. It will be full in a few days. He licks his muzzle in uncertainty.

He sleeps during the day and walks at night. He hopes, this way, they will at least need a spell to find his footprints. A couple times he crosses a bit of road, or hears a person shouting, but each time his Patronus leads him in the opposite direction. He catches one or two more tiny animals and even tries pouncing on a spider in a truly puppish moment, bit he just ends up spitting it out. Who knew eight legs would make something so hard to swallow?

It is almost like the silver wolf _knows_ because three days after that first snow fall, the silver wolf just stops. Devlin listens. He can hear nothing but the sound of small animals. They must be miles and miles from _anything_. Then he see's it; full and bright. The moon.

The silver wolf and he look at each other, and Devlin feels a fear unlike he has ever before. He hadn't known better with that little boy. Had been too young, in a way, to understand what that rancid tasting potion did for him (and others), but now he is fully aware and the lack of it in his veins frightens him beyond Voldemort, beyond the fear in his father's eyes, beyond what he had done to those men. He'd do it all again, if he could have that potion now.

The silver wolf growls, a low hollow sound that echoes around the clearing like a ghosts haunting cry. Devlin, still the little wolf, looks at him again. He is taller than him, a full grown wolf. He tips his head. No, he is larger than a wolf. He licks his muzzle again, in thought. His Patronus isn't a wolf at all, it is a _werewolf. _

The sun slinks away. The moon is all alone. Devlin whimpers and tucks his tail between his legs.

**A/N: so this chapter is a bit shorter, but it seemed a natural place to stop. Hope everyone is enjoying this installment in the Devlin Potter series. Sure would love a review *hint, hint***

**How'd I do on the fighting part? I always think I am so bad at those types of scenes. **

**Upcoming:**

"How did you..."

"I did what I had too," he says, one haunted pair of eyes regarding another of the same. They've both deceived Voldemort and lived to tell and Devlin sometimes thinks that is why he feels such a connection to this man.


	5. Not a Sliver Missing

The sun slinks away. The moon is all alone. Devlin whimpers and tucks his tail between his legs.

His stomach churns unpleasantly, his whimper filling the woods.

It's not as easy to think of such human things as transformations and full moons and fear of yourself, while in the body of a wolf. Wolves don't fear themselves. Wolves don't notice whether the moon is a sliver from being full, or full. Wolves don't think of emotions and regrets and wishes that it could all be different. They think on instinct and grainy images and sounds and smells.

He remembers what the boy had smelled like, what his tears had sounded like, what his shivering body had been like, coward in the corner. He's never remembered it so clearly. He's sure the clarity has something to do with the full moon, hovering over him like an unshakable nightmare.

He remembers his lips coming up to show his teeth.

He remembers the boy begging, although he can't hear the words. Words have no meaning. Only the flow of them all together. His had been fast and _desperate_ and whimper-like.

His eyes... how his eyes had moved from each corner of the room to lingering on the door and then repeated the motions all the over again. He remembers watching his every move; the predator. The way he had pushed himself into the corner, as if he imagined each second later he _might_ be able to push an inch further away.

_Trapped_. He had been so trapped.

But those thoughts are vanishing even as he's just beginning them. He is changing, his snout shortening, his ears angling differently. His paws grow - he'll be bigger as a werewolf adult than as a full grown 'wolf'. He's taller, leaner, longer. More powerful. If he could think, he'd think it wasn't nearly as painful transforming from his wolf form than his human form, but the pain is still overwhelming and it keeps all thoughts at bay. He shivers as he curls upon himself, every inch of him moving, changing, contorting. Agony.

oOoOoOo

He's awake. He paws at the ground beneath him. Yes, this is him. Him moving. Him looking.

He's awake.

He gives a great shake, feeling every nerve in his body shiver with him.

He's awake. He can feel the alertness in his blood and heart and bone. The moon above makes it hard to feel anything else.

It is _his_ turn. He lifts his head. There are trees all around, thick leaves beneath his paws, cold air in his lungs. He pants, sniffing the air.

Then his eyes fall upon a silver wolf. A werewolf. He tips his head. He should be afraid, but he isn't. It is a an adult. He is a puppy.

_Wolves aren't afraid of themselves._

He jumps and looks behind him, a snarl but a lip-curl away. There is nothing there. Where had that voice come from? That _thought?_

The silver wolf is staring at him, it's head cocked gently to one side. It is panting, like him.

_Wolves aren't afraid of themselves. _

The silver wolf lays down and he has the inexplicable urge to mimic the silver wolf. There is nothing logical about the thought. The logical thought would be to run, or to coax and answer out of the ethereal-looking form. _"That is a logical decision." _

He snarled into air. Logical decisions? Was he even capable? Who would call him logical?

Something is _wrong._

The silver wolfs regard is infuriating. It looks all-knowing. He howls at the discomfort that thinking this way causes. The confusion. The _wrongness_.

He snarls at the _wrongness_ inside of him.

_Think._ The voice whispers, inside his ears. He howls again and attacks his own foot to distract him. He has to bite _something_. He looks up...he has to find something.

_Don't. _

The voice is no longer soft, it is demanding.

_Think_. _He says we can._

Who said he could think? Think of what? He is thinking...he is thinking of hunting. He is so _hungry. _

_Don't. The dark-eyed man says we can think logically. Try. _

The dark-eyed man?

_It can be different this time. _

He feels that wrongness in his mind again and it is driving him insane. He chews again at himself - his tail, his feet. He throws his body against a tree. He scratches at his face with his back paws, rubs at his head with his front paws. Something is not right. Something is wrong in his head. He fights with it. When he feels pain, so does the wrongness. He can feel it inside, crying every time he breaks through his fur, every time he throws himself against the trees. He is defeating it. He is hurting it.

But it is not stopping.

And then, very softly, very kindly, it says: _we never fight. We're a team. _

He stills.

There is a rush of feeling through his whole body. Suddenly he is in agony as this _wrongness_ joins his mind - it feels more than him. It isn't used to the pain. He is always in pain. He hardly feels above the pain at all anymore...

It is making him weak and yet, he stays still, listening to it while it continues.

_You and I, we help each other. We save each other. We don't fight each other. We used to, before the red-eyed man. We don't anymore. _

The silver wolf has crept up on him and there it is staring at him again, its snout mere inches from his own.

He lunges at the other werewolf, a last desperate attempt to stop the wrongnessfrom joining him, but it isn't _there_ for _real _and his mouth goes through the freezing cold fog. He feels the lingerings of something strange where he had touched the silver werewolf. The strangeness seeps into the skin on his muzzle and the feeling spreads. It awakens something under his skin. _Magic._ He isn't sure where the word comes from, but he knows it to be true.

Somehow, he knows that however strong it feels to him, it is, in reality, quite weak. This magic is stronger than this. Stronger for the boy than him.

The boy...yes, now he remembered. He was a boy..._and_ a werewolf. He wasn't always like this. But it was his _turn. _He snarled.

_It is _our_ turn. _

The snarl stops in his throat.

Their turn.

And suddenly, he isn't in the woods, he is sitting at a table, with a cup of something warm in front of him, and the man, the important man, has given it to him and told him he and the boy are the same to him - that he loves them both.

And he is asking the man if he is mad. He must be mad, to be sitting down at table with a human...but he is human himself. He has hands. He can seem them, feel him commanding their movement. He is _awake_ inside this human body.

Sometimes the boy lets him have a _turn _ even when the moon isn't full.

_Tonight it is _our_ turn._ The voice says again.

His voice...the boys voice..._their_ voice.

_We don't want to hurt anyone_.

And there was that jolt of pain as they broke through and became _one_. It was the boy's turn to save him, to keep him _there_, away from danger.

OoOoO

It is agony all over again as he shrinks and contorts and _changes_. Everything, from the inside, to the outside of him, is changing. He holds his tongue, trying to keep in his scream.

_Copper. _

It is the taste of his bleeding tongue that makes him scream, more than the pain.

The silver wolf is howling desperately and Devlin looks up at him sharply. He is pawing at the ground.

Devlin has spoken.

He transforms quickly and runs, limping and scrambling with his injuries, after the silver wolf. A few miles later, his silver wolf seems to calm to a more bearable pace, and Devlin knows whatever danger was around, is far away now.

They continue on. A few miles ahead there is a red squirrel searching for food in the snow. It would be easy enough to catch, but Devlin is far too sore. He whimpers and it dashes up it's tree.

He walks for two more nights, his tail still throbbing, his paws still aching, and just when he thinks the Patronus is not acting like a point me spell at all, he see's it looming up ahead. Hogwarts. It is far away still, just the faintest outline, but it is unmistakable.

He wonders, if he is in the forbidden forest, what is so forbidden about it at all. It is beautiful. There are no creatures, at least that deem him worth bothering.

By that night, he thinks it might be only another nights walk away. He curls up in the hollow of a tree. Sometime at night, there is a crunching of snow and he peers up, only to see a horse, no a person...no a Centaur, standing above him. They peer at each other for a moment longer, then the creature leaves him. Devlin moves away from that spot.

He knows he is close when he see's the thestral's grazing in a clearing. They peer at him, weary but unafraid. They know he is not what he appears. He skirts their group, just to be safe, and falls asleep watching them just after dawn.

He wakes in the evening and catches a small red squirrel. His meal turns the snow red. He's not sure why, but he covers it up. The thestral's tilt their heads at him as he skirts their group again, moving beyond them.

He is at the edge of the forbidden forest by the morning. It shouldn't have taken him so long, but he's so tried and hungry and _sore_. He wants to fall asleep, but the sight of the castle makes him push forward. He travels at the edge of the forest until he is as close to the entrance as he will get. He transforms. He'd taken his shoes off ages ago; he had felt them falling apart even while he was transformed. Now his feet are freezing. He pushes forward. His legs wobble beneath them. He hasn't been a boy in weeks.

There are children starting to come out of the Great Hall. He decides he won't even try to guess what he looks like. His silver wolf is beside him, urging him onward. People are staring. Students shout and point, but his wolf protects him from even them - they back away from the silver form, afraid.

His feet are cold and numb by the time he reaches the front steps. His breath is like a fog in front of him. Every cut on his body is shouting in protest to suddenly being without fur. He rushes through the doors.

Faintly he hears shouts and...Headmaster Dumbledore, calling after him. He ignores them all. He knows where he has to go.

Now he is the one leading the wolf and he stumbles down to the dungeons. The wolf walks beside him, graceful and magnificent looking.

"Devlin?" Scorpius whispers, coming from the opposite direction.

"Sod off, you great prat!" He shouts at the look-alike Draco. His voice is rough. He hasn't spoken in weeks. The boy looks taken aback. Devlin storms past him. Scorpius shrinks back against the hallway wall so as not to be to close to either Devlin or the silver wolf stalking behind him. As he passes the wolf turns it's head and growls lowly at the boy.

Finally, they make it to the door. The ominous wooden door that first years shy away from and older students dread. He knocks loudly.

"Professor Snape!" He yells. "Severus!"

The door opens quickly, too quickly. The professor had known his voice and Devlin wonders what he looks like when Severus' face turns ghastly. He pulls him into his office roughly, almost carries him to a chair, and then simply looks at him. His hands are shaking, still on Devlin's shoulders.

"How did you..."

"I did what I had too," he says, one haunted pair of eyes regarding another of the same. They've both deceived Voldemort and lived to tell and Devlin sometimes thinks that is why he feels such a connection to this man.

The wolf takes one look at Snape and vanishes. It's job is done. He is safe. Snape's hands are still shaking, even as he runs them over the boy. Something must be wrong. The child must be significantly injured. He must be...how does a child survive alone for a month?

"Are you injured?" He asks and they both know he isn't referring to the cuts and scrapes littering the boys body. Some of those scrapes are minimal, while some, like the ones on his hands and feet, are more significant. Still, it is far less than Snape would have thought.

"No." The boy says, in that bare whisper. Snape nods and, hands still shaking, goes over to his fireplace to grab some floo. Who to call first, the nurse or Potter?

His jar of floo powder shatters as he drops it suddenly, the bang of his door being thrown open startling him. For a moment his office is covered in the killing-curse green powder as it drifts to the ground. The boy doesn't even blink. This is not the same boy who had sprung from his chair and ran for his sister when the floo had lit in his home, mere years ago.

"He said-", the man pants, "he said he was here."

Harry Potter's eyes land on his son's own green eyes. The boy is muggle paper white beneath all the grime. He is shaking slightly.

"Hi, Dad," he whispers and it is perhaps the most beautiful thing Harry has ever heard in his life. He makes his way slowly towards his boy, falling on his knees before him. His hands reach for his face, running his thumbs over his cheeks, his fingers through his hair. It is dirty and sticking up everywhere. For once, his hair looks more like Harry's than Tom Riddle's. Assuring himself that he is here, whole and alive. He pays the powered floor little heed, the slight tinge of green to the boys hair and face mean nothing.

"Oh, Merlin, Devlin," he says.

"Dad?" He asks, lifting his heavy eyes slowly.

"Yeah?"

"I'm really hungry."

Harry's eyes scan him with new fervor.

"When did you last eat?"

"I donno...three days ago?"

Harry rises quickly to his feet.

"You need to see Poppy, then we'll get you some food there." He makes to pick Devlin up, but his son pushes him aside.

"I can do it myself, Dad. I'm not a baby," he whispers and there is something in his eyes that disturbs Harry.

_Just a bit more like you, now, Harry. More and more._ And it scares Harry to see those shadows in his eleven year old son's eyes.

Together they walk to the Hospital wing. Harry shields Devlin from the questions, but can do nothing about the stares. McGonagall sees them in the hallway, gives a little gasp and then immediately commands all the students within shouting distance to 'go about their business'. When one Hufflepuff boy dawdles in the hallway, she docks him ten points.

Every muscle in Devlin's body is screaming in pain and his legs, so unused to being without another pair and so long and tall, wobble under him. He keeps going, because he isn't a boy. _Boy's don't do those things_. He didn't want to be hugged or treated like he had been before, because he was different. He bites his cheek to keep in the sighs and whimpers, and again to keep the feint smile from his face as the hospital doors come into view. His father opens one of them for him, but he simply pushes the other one open for himself.

"I'm not a baby," he says again and he marches over to Poppy's door, knocks and says "I need some help, please."

Poppy's face looses all it's color at the sight of the boy.

"Oh Merlin," she breathes, gently guiding Devlin to a bed. When she finally gets him on a bed and finally asks what is wrong, she is looking at Harry and it infuriates Devlin.

"He doesn't know," he says softly, but there is a commanding edge to his voice. He's been giving commands for four months. "Why don't you ask _me_?"

"I'm sorry, dear," she soothes, "it's just habit to ask the adults. What's happened?"

"My injuries are minimal, I think. Just scrapes and such. Mostly dirt," he looks at his own arms as he says this, "Mostly I'm really hungry."

"How long since you've eaten?"

He'd told Harry three days, but that hadn't been completely true.

"Three days proper, but I did manage to eat a little here and there."

"Like what? Where were you?"

"In the woods. I had brought some rations with me, but it wasn't much." Which wasn't true, but somehow he thought he'd have more to explain to her if he said he'd managed eat small animals.

"Oh my," she goes over to her fireplace and orders a slice of bread. "Just that, for now. See if you can stomach it. After you eat, I want you to wash up so I can have a proper look."

He nods and quickly makes the bread disappear.

"A change of clothes?"

"I'll get one from home, Devlin," Harry says quietly, half expecting the boy to refuse, but he simply nods and walks into the bathroom.

Upcoming:

She smiles, but he knows and she knows that she is taking away his defenses, making him weak again, turning him into a regular boy. Only she didn't know that she couldn't take away the one thing he knew made sure he'd never be a regular boy again.

How am I doing? I try not to judge from the lack of reviews, although I admit it doesn't always work. Sometimes I think: oh, I should wait until someone reviews. But then, I just really like writing.

Still, it would be great to hear your thoughts, good, bad, or otherwise.

I have up to chapter 11 written. There is a chapter in there that is 13 pages long! Whoa! lo


	6. A Half Truth

There is a bathtub and a shower, all done in the same white tiling, and Devlin wanders over to the tub and fills it up with water. He sneaks a foot in. Merlin that hurt his cuts!

He clenches his jaw. He _isn't_ weak. He puts the other foot in as well, mastering the urge to cry out. Next comes his torso and the wounds from his tail that have transferred to his back. He sinks in and finally puts his hands into the water. This time he does cry out.

"Are you alright, Devlin?" It's his father.

"Yeah," he says, loudly enough to sound confident. He finds the soap and begins scrubbing. His hair still has the blood from the Death Eater in it, his arms and legs are covered in dirt, but it is his stomach that is dirtiest of all. His hands sting and his feet pound. There is dirt in every wound on him. He scrubs it all out. The nurse could use a spell, but part of Devlin _wants_ this, wants to _see_ it being scrubbed away, wants to _feel_ it, even if it hurts.

His skin is ill used to being clean and it protests the raw feeling.

He lifts his wand and summons the pair of clothes and the door opens just enough for them to slip through. He hears the surprised, "what?" from the other side. He dresses. It feels so odd to be dressing. He looks at his old clothes, dirty and covered in who knows what. Could they even be called clothing anymore?

He doesn't bother to part his hair. He opens the door.

It is not only his father there, now. His mother is there as well, worrying herself as she folds and refolds her hands across her lap. His father is speaking in hushed tones to her, trying to comfort her.

"Oh my," the nurse says, rushing over to him. All the scrubbing has only served to make his wounds more apparent. The one on his right back paw is bleeding and the one on his left front paw. He frowns. _Feet and hands,_ he mentally corrects himself. "Oh my. Those are bad..." She lifts his hand first, examining it.

"However did you get these?" She asks, glancing at his feet even as she keeps his hand.

"I gave them to myself," he says and he does not sound in the least concerned.

His mother and father seem to immediately know what he means, but the nurse, it seems, hadn't been made aware.

'_We'll come and pick you up before your transformations'_ his father had told him, what seems like years ago.

"You gave them to yourself?" She asks, concern and worry and horror lacing her voice.

"Yes," he says, still in that same disinterested tone.

"But _how?_" She asks, turning his hand over.

"I don't quite remember, madam Healer. I suppose I bit them. Werewolves tend to do that to oneself during the full moon, if they have nothing else to lash out at." The truth is, he can remember it clearly and that only makes the torture worse.

She looks up sharply. He expects her to drop his hand. To back away from him. To _fear_ him. But instead there is only pity and sympathy in her eyes.

She leads him over to a bed and begins to mend the bites. She is done quickly enough. His mum and dad stay silent, simply watching him. He tries not to look at them too often. He is afraid they will see the nothingness that he feels inside of himself.

When the nurse is done, she lifts her wand and a house elf appears in front of her. She asks it for some soup. A moment later, there is a tray for him, and he can hardly think of anything else except the chicken soup in front of him. It is a golden yellow with tiny pieces of chicken and carrots and other vegetables and all Devlin can think is that he won't have to wash himself up after _this_ meal. He picks up the spoon. It feel awkward in his hand, but the soup makes the awkwardness all worthwhile - it feels so good as it warms him up. He takes another bite. Everyone is silent around him and he thinks his quick gulps might be frightening them. He probably looks like an animal, but he has been, hasn't he? And he's hungry.

It isn't even an unpleasant silence. He can feel his mothers gaze on him, her lips tipped into a worried but loving smile, and his father is signing papers for the nurse. He wouldn't mind it if lasted for hours, this way. It reminds him of the woods.

But it won't. Beautiful and pleasant things never last. Like the footprints in the snow. There is always _something _that disrupts the niceness. This time it is Albus Dumbledore. Devlin see's his midnight blue robes out of the corner of his eyes, even with his head bent over his bowl. It must be the old man, because no one else would wear a midnight blue robe dotted with lime green stars.

"I had to see you safe for myself," Dumbledore whispers. The end of that phrase 'safe and sound' is not lost upon Devlin. Even Dumbledore questions his soundness, but then hasn't he always? Hasn't everyone? Except Grandfather, who thought Devlin's ability to kill a man just fine, who wouldn't think it overly strange for him to have survived a month alone.

'_We are the same, you and I, that is why only we can understand each other.' _

Devlin keeps his eyes on his bowl.

"Are you well, Mr. Potter? Not too badly hurt, I hope?"

"I am fine."

But everyone knew he wasn't.

"It is remarkable, what you have done."

Devlin keeps looking at his plate. He doesn't think it is remarkable at all. How is killing people remarkable? Perhaps he meant the woods? Hiding from them? But no, that was all easy enough - nothing remarkable.

"Our sources told us you had escaped almost a month ago." Devlin feels his heart flutter in panic. _Sources? _If they had sources, would those sources have known what he had done? "But we could not find you."

"I didn't want anyone finding me," Devlin whispers, shoving another spoonful of soup into his mouth.

"Severus said there was a wolf with you."

Harry looks up, startled. Devlin can see his eyes out of the corner of his vision, emerald green. For the first time, Devlin realizes they are the color of the killing curse and for once he is thankful he is more like his grandfather and less like his father.

"It is my Patronus. At least, it's what came out of my wand when I said the spell."

"That is impressive."

Devlin knows Dumbledore is trying to make him look, but he's learned well enough his lesson about Legilimency. He decides he may as well be bold and frank with the old Wizard.

"I'm not going to look at you, Headmaster."

"I was not trying to make you look at me, dear boy," but Devlin knows he is lying, even if his voice sounds hurt, even if his mothers eyes close at Devlin's harsh words. He has to be lying. Devlin can't trust anyone. Nothing is how it seems. If they know, they won't ever look at him the same way again. If Dumbledore knew, he'd never stop looking at Devlin _ever. _

"You wouldn't find anything, anyway," he says defiantly, "_he_ didn't find anything I didn't want him too." And he glances up, not into Dumbledore's eyes, but just at the room at large, and that is when he notices that Severus is at the Hospital doors, his eyes shimmering with surprise and pride and hurt.

For the briefest of moments their eyes connect and Devlin finds himself in that circle of Death Eaters, his hand held straight, whispering those words he hates with every being of his body: _Crucio_.

Severus looks down, and Devlin looks away at the sadness in those eyes. He turns back to his lunch.

"Is there someone I can borrow notes from? I'm sure I've missed quite a bit."

"It is the holiday, darling," the nurse says, "and you are in no shape to be in classes, regardless."

"I'm fine," he says shortly.

"You are _not_ fine. You are malnourished, dehydrated, suffering withdrawal from your medications, and probably traumatized. If you leave here, it will be to go _home_." He doesn't like her pointing out his weaknesses. He puts down his spoon and looks at her with distain.

He didn't want to go home. At home they would fuss over him and kiss him and act like he was a regular boy, when he wasn't. He wasn't any boy they would want anymore.

"I'm _fine_," he growls at her, in the same voice he had taunted that man in before he'd aimed his wand at his heart. "I am not a baby. I will be going back to class."

"You'll be going home, at the very least for the remaining week of Holiday," Severus says loudly.

Devlin felt something grow cold in his stomach and head. He felt _betrayed_ by the one person who ought to know why he didn't want to go home and be coddled. The man turned to leave and Devlin leapt out of bed, running after him until he'd managed to grab his hand in the middle of the hallway.

"You can't!" He says, and hates how desperate he sounds. He sounds like Devlin. Bellatrix would laugh at him and call him a _'teeny tiny baby' _and then she would grab at him and say 'act like the Dark Lord's Heir!'.

"You are making a scene, Mr. Potter," Severus says softly. But Devlin was in a panic and he could hardly care. He waved his wand and a blue bubble popped up around them. There, no more scene.

"You can't send me back home," he seethes, his fingers digging into his Head of House's wrist.

"It is what you need, even if it is not what you want."

"It is the _last_ thing I need," he says, harshly.

"They will love you."

"How can you know?" His voice is empty except for the anger.

"Because that is what parent's are supposed to do."

Devlin laughs sharply. He looks up at Severus and then leans closer, his voice gone hush but still just as uncaring and cruel.

"Is that what your father did? Not all parents do what they're supposed to do." It had been a stab in the dark. He knew little about Severus' father, except for the vague glimpses he'd managed during Occlumency lessons all those years ago. Still, it seems he was right, if the man's pallor was any guideline. Severus remains silent, but he tries to jerk his hand away. Devlin dug his nails in. "Do they know? Do those sources know?"

Severus scowls.

"We know only that the Dark Lord claimed you as his heir and paraded you as his 'Dark Prince'. Apparently, whatever 'initiation' you were put through, everyone was sworn to secrecy. The man died trying to tell us." So he'd killed another man, however inadvertently. _He was a traitor. _

"I didn't do anything," he says, even though they both know it isn't true.

"They think he burned you," Severus whispers, "that is what your parents fear."

"I'm never going to tell them," Devlin says softly. He lets go of Severus' arm.

"You won't have to. Voldemort will torment your father with whatever he made you do, the next time he sees him. Although, it might be better to hear it from you..."

Severus walks away, the privacy spell shattering around him.

"Five points to Slytherin for a proper privacy spell," Snape shouts behind his back.

"Devlin, are you alright?" It is his father, finally having reached him. He is panting. That is odd. It wasn't _that_ far from the Hospital doors.

"I'm fine. Lets go home. I'm tired." And he really was. His bed was the first and only thing he did when he got home. He wakes up later to find half the day gone. He is still in his clothing, his door still closed, his locks still in place. They haven't come in to look after him.

He wanders down the stairs and discovers it is only he and his parents and the only thing they seem concerned about is him eating.

Part of him had been anticipating questions and nervous glances and fussing over his appearance, but the only thing his mother questions him about is what he'd like to eat, and the only thing she glances at is him as he ignores her and pours a bowl of cereal for himself.

"I'm not a baby," he says quietly as he puts his bowl and down and begins making his own food.

"Why do you keep saying that?" His father asks softly, his brow furrowed. "No one has ever called you a baby."

"You don't know everyone I know," Devlin retorts, just as calmly. He stays still for a moment, waiting for those questions to begin now, but his words seem to shut his father up.

Hours later, the floo paints the hallway green and Devlin looks up from his brooding. His cereal is soggy. His mum is still sitting with him, worrying herself over a cup of tea, but his father is somewhere else.

"Devy!" Screams that voice he's thought of every night for the past four months under his blanket, safe from preying eyes. Moments later there is a head of red hair in the door, sparkling blue eyes peering at him as if nothing else mattered in the world. "Devy!"

He wants to fall to his knees in front of her and beg for her forgiveness, because she is his symbol of innocence and he has failed her because he is not her 'Devy' anymore. Instead he simply gets up and pulls her into a hug. He knows it won't feel the same to him, but he wants it anyways. She can't understand what he's done, so she can't judge him. She isn't suspicious. There is no worry in her eyes, just joy. He breathes in her scent. For once he almost thinks he could cry, but the feeling only makes his eyes sting and no tears fall.

"I was worried about you, Emma," he says softly and it is the truth. "I thought...I didn't know..." He grabs tighter to her, and she lets him hold onto her, without a word about his ramblings. When they part, his father is looking at him with that same mixture of fear and sadness, and Remus, behind him, has only sadness in his eyes.

"I'm okay, Devy," she says softly, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek softly. "Nothing bad happened to me. I missed you."

He nods, quickly drying his tears and looking around at the adults. All the eyes are on him. It makes him feel funny. Makes him feel like he should be in control, but he is so far from it.

_You are not a little boy anymore. You are a young man. You are my Heir; start making them believe it! _

"Stop looking at me," he commands, standing up straighter, trying to make sense of this environment. It seems so new, all over again. His father looks hurt, Remus looks confused, but it is his mother who finally speaks.

"No, I don't think we will."

He spins around to face her.

"I said to. You have to stop looking at me!"

"You are the child, we are the adults. We decide what _has_ to happen. Children don't give orders."

"I'm not a baby!"

"I didn't say you were."

"Then stop looking at me."

"You're not the boss of me, Devlin," she says softly, but firmly.

There is a firmness in her eyes. A control. A knowledge. A confidence. All things that are in Devlin's eyes too. All things that are in her father's, and his grandfather's, eyes.

In that moment, he knows he shouldn't push her. Knows she'll know if he does. She's clever enough. Creative enough. Imaginative enough.

"Sorry," he says softly, but only part of him really means it at all. The other part is screaming at him for the word. It's a bad word to say to her. She is not his keeper. He does not belong to her. "I didn't mean it. I just-" he looks down at his hands. "I donno why I said that."

"It's alright," she says and her eyes aren't so piercing anymore and he doesn't think she's on that edge of knowing what he's done. He nods.

Emma is looking at him with that innocent confusion and Devlin looks away. Sometimes he wishes he could be like her. Sometimes he wonders if he was ever like her at all. But other times he knows that on that night seven years ago, it had to be _one_ of them, and it is on those times that the cold calm seeps through him as he thinks: _It had to be me_. It was never meant to be her. He never wanted to see him in her eyes. She was everything good. Everything right. Everything she should be. Even when she was annoying and made him want to run away from the sight of her dolly's and tea sets and dresses that shimmered.

"You still haven't eaten," his mum says softly. He climbs back onto the chair and looks down at his soggy cereal.

"Won't you let me cook you something, love?" She asks, looking at his mushy cereal in the same way he was. He nods and she beams at him.

"Can I have a something too?" Emma asks.

"Didn't Sirius feed you?" Asks mum.

"Well...sorta...but..."

"I saw the meal, Alex, it was inedible. He actually tried to cook himself."

Alexandra turns around to Remus quick as a whip, her face set in a comical O of surprise.

"Sure, sweety, I'll cook you something too."

Emma is smiling and it is making Harry smile too, and he and Remus sit down at the table, arguing good naturally over who will read the Quidditch page first. Alexandra turns around and finds that there is only one face without a smile at her table, and it makes her chest clench at his emotionless face. What had Voldemort done to her baby?

OoOoOoO

The next day he wakes up to find breakfast already on the table. He thinks his mother has done this so that he cannot argue with her. He eats her food and tries to tell himself it wasn't as if he'd cooked at the camp, either.

"How did you sleep?" His mother asks softly.

"Fine."

"No nightmares?"

"Why would I have nightmares?" Of course he had, but he wouldn't admit that to her. She didn't need to know he was so weak.

"Then tonight, you surely won't need that silencing charm up..."

His head snaps up. He'd used a new kind. A more secretive kind. He'd read about it in his grandfather's library and he was sure they couldn't undo it.

"Had trouble disengaging it, did you?" He asks, feeling a surge of power and triumph that always comes when he thinks he's bested someone in magic.

"Oh, sweetie," she says kindly, but there is that edge of knowingness to her voice, "undoing charms is what I do for a living. That is a very archaic type of silencing charm though."

How had he not known that? Sometime, somewhere, she had mentioned as much, but he hadn't really thought it meant she was that good at it.

_Maybe that's why you're so good at it._

"I like them there."

"Why?"

"Because, I do."

"If you were in trouble, we wouldn't know."

"I've thought ahead. You would be warned."

"We made an agreement before, no more silencing charms, and that agreement will remain."

There is that glint of knowing in her eyes and Devlin bites his tongue.

"Alright."

She smiles, but he knows and she knows that she is taking away his defenses, making him weak again, trying to turn him into a regular boy again. He knows, but she doesn't know, that he will never be able to be a regular boy again. He's done things no regular boy would.

That day, his father tries to get him to play a friendly game of catch the snitch and Devlin half heartedly agrees, just because he knows he wouldn't have refused before. He plays dolly's with Emma, because he knows how much she has missed him. He eats lunch and dinner without complaint. He does everything right, because he needs them to believe he is okay.

His mum tucks him into bed and when she is about to turn his lights off, says "no silencing charms, alright?" and he nods.

And then, when the door is closed, he whispers _"Expecto Patronum" _and tells the wolf to wake him if anyone is in the hallway. He transforms into his wolf, who never dreams of such human things. Midway through the night, he can feels his left front paw go terribly cold, and opens his eyes. His wolf is staring at him. He quickly transforms and huddles under the covers. His silver wolf vanishes, and when his mother peeks in, it is a boy she sees, sleeping peacefully.

oOoOoOoOo

By the third day, he knows he must tell them _something_ or they will know he is withholding and won't let him back to Hogwarts. He's heard them whispering at night. Maybe they'd meant for him to hear.

He looks up from his book in the living room and notices that his father, once more, is absent. He's been working late all week. Emma had said something about 'Daddy being gone while you were away' and Devlin had just figured she meant he'd been busy. What he hadn't expected was the ragged appearance his father often returned from work in, or the bruises and cuts he'd have that mother would fuss over after she'd sent them to play in the living room. Devlin could hear it all and they knew it, because they talked cryptically. All he knew was that his father was looking for something, and he hadn't found it all this week.

He put his book down gently and made to leave the living room.

"Where are you going, love?" His mum asks gently.

"I wanted to talk to Dad," he says softly and he can't miss the relief he see's seep into her eyes and features.

"Oh, okay. Just knock beforehand, honey."

So he does.

"Give me a sec," the voice says on the other side and Devlin waits impatiently. Finally Harry opens the door up. He's in his undershirt, his button down shirt left over the arm of a chair. His hair is mussed, as if he'd been running his hand through it constantly. There are papers littering the table and at the sight of Devlin and a flick of his wand, all the papers neatly stack themselves and enclose themselves in a box. But mostly, there is Hermione in the room. Usually, if Hermione were over then Hugo would be here too, toddling around in the living room while Emma treated him like a dolly - not that he much minded at his age.

"Hello, Devlin," Hermione says kindly, "I was going to say hi on my way out."

"Whatcha' want, Devlin?" His father asks, trying to look casual.

"I wanted to talk to you," he says, looking pointedly at Hermione for a moment.

"Ah well-"

"Harry, I can read the briefs alone for a moment. Go talk to Devlin."

"Right. Ah, lets go to the backyard, huh?" He grabs his coat on the way out. Devlin hardly ever sees him in his muggle leather jacket, and it makes him look like the pictures they have around the house of Sirius and James together. It doesn't help that Sirius gave it to him as a gift, or that it was James' own jacket. It makes his father look a little less like a wizarding hero and savior and a little more like just a dad.

"What did you want to talk about?" Harry asks. He'd snatched Devlin's jacket off the hook too, and now he holds it out to him. For a moment Devlin thinks of refusing, but then he allows his father to put it on him and even to zip it up.

"He threatened to hurt Emma. That's why I knew I had to escape." He thinks his father will reach out to hug him, but he seems to think better of it.

"I'm so sorry, Devlin."

"I had to know that she was okay."

"I know you love her."

And the truth is between them, unspoken but not unknown. That Devlin loves her more than he even loves his own parents. He doesn't need parents. He can do for himself almost everything. Four years away of not being a child had made it impossible for him to ever feel entirely childish.

"I love you, too," he says softly. It is the truth, but so is it that he love Emma more, or at least in a very different way. He feels the need to protect her, to shield her, and to keep her happy. She had been the one person his grandfather had allowed him, on a small level, to _keep_ and so he has always felt more connected to her than to his parents. "Professor Snape said you thought he marked me, but he didn't."

"If he didn't mark you, what did he do?"

And Devlin scrambles for some half-truth. He can't admit the truth, but perhaps he can admit part of it.

"He made me make someone scream," he says softly, sticking his hands in his pockets. "He said either they screamed, or I screamed."

His father's eyes are closed. He opens them and Devlin is surprised at the anger in them.

"It wasn't your fault," he says, reaching out and patting Devlin's back.

"Do you think...I really don't want to be held back a year, Dad. I want to stay with Freddie and Maria..."

"You can go back to school on Monday. We'll bring you over this Sunday. You'll write us, if you have any problems?"

"Of course."

"I have something for you." He lifts his wand and a small box comes zooming towards him. He hands it to Devlin who is surprised to see a necklace inside the box. "It deactivates portkeys," he says. Devlin nods. "I want it on you at all times."

It is worn and familiar feeling.

"Was this mine, before?" He asks softly. He can remember the feel of it being ripped off his throat. Of the chain breaking. Of Malfoy saying "did Potter think that was a strong enough sticking charm?".

"Yeah it was. I had some extra work done to it though. Promise me you'll keep it on?"

"I promise."

"Dumbledore also warded the campus against Portkeys, for now."

"Alright."

His father nods.

"Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?"

"No."

His father looks like he'd like to talk more about the first thing, but he knows Devlin won't, so they both nod and turn around to go back inside.

"I have some paperwork for a case to finish. Maybe, if you're still awake, we could play some chess when I'm done."

"Yeah, okay."

OoOoOoO

On the fourth night, they invite Hermione and Ron over, and Hugo comes with them. Emma immediately rushes towards the little boy, cooing at him and leading him away from the floo.

"Hugo, we made cookies!" She gushes, and his eyes look up, sparkling. "Want one?"

"Yeah!" He says, one of his few words.

"First you gotta say my name," she says, a smile on her lips. "Remember it's E-mm-a."

"Eh-m," he says, his face screwed up in his most serious expression.

Devlin watches him from the doorway. He's gotten bigger than he was before. He's talking. Saying names except Mama and Dada. His eyes come to land on Devlin and he hopes to see a spark of recognition, but instead there is a momentary expression of fear and shyness and Devlin knows the little baby doesn't really remember him. He turns around and leaves Emma to her new little friend, and wanders into the kitchen.

His mum is cooking, stirring something on the stove, glancing at another thing in the oven, laying plates and utensils out on the table.

"Where did you learn to do that?" He asks softly. It is a question he has always wanted to ask. His father can do that too. Freddie's mum can't, and Molly does it the magical way, as does Maria's mum. Both his parent's do it the muggle way.

"From my mother, I suppose."

"But she was a witch. She was pureblooded." Her eyes snap up from setting the table and suddenly he realizes that he's not supposed to know that. Not from her, at any rate.

"She was."

"Was?"

"She left the magical world when she was pregnant with me." He frowns. He'd never known that.

"Why?"

"That's something we'll talk about some other time, Devlin." He nods. He won't push her because he does not want her to push him, either. They can both have their secrets, that's fine with Devlin.

"Where did Dad learn, then?"

"From his Aunt, I suppose."

"Did he really not know he was a wizard? That's what the history books say at school."

"Not until he was eleven."

Devlin frowns, but says no more.

**A/N: **some reviews would be much appreciated. After chapter ten, I have some major writers block. :(

Upcoming:

These aren't the killing curse green eyes that Devlin half expected to show up today, regardless of his letter. No, these eyes are darker, framed by handsome aristocratic features and perfectly parted hair.


	7. The Book Shop

"Devlin!" Maria shouts in the hallway, rushing toward him. Someone must have told her he was coming, because otherwise she wouldn't be near the dungeons. He smiles and allows her hug. It feels good to be able to know she is safe. Freddie is near her too and hugs him briefly, pulling away to say "Missed ya, mate." Devlin nods.

"You may speak to Mr. Potter more tomorrow," Professor Snape says from behind him. The professor had, thankfully, shooed his parents away before they'd left his office, and brought him back to the dorm rooms by himself.

Maria and Freddie nod and scurry off. Devlin is sure it is after hours and he gives Snape a thankful glance for not deducting points.

"Meet me in my office before breakfast," Snape says before departing.

OoOoOoO

Devlin knocks on his Head of House's door early the next morning. He is still so used to being in the woods, that he wakes the instant it is dawn, even though he can't tell in his Dorm room.

"Enter," the Professor says softly. He turns the knob and slides the door open, stepping through gracefully, carefully. Doors can be deceptive and he half expects to wake up suddenly - for a battered Auror to meet his eyes on the other side.

"This week, in addition to returning to your classes, you will have to do some catching up." Devlin blanched despite himself.

"How many essays have I missed, sir?" He asks hesitantly. He likes school, certainly. He enjoys research, absolutely, but he wasn't some Ravenclaw. He didn't want to write a hundred essays over the course of...he didn't know how long they'd give him.

"No essays. The Headmaster and teachers have discussed the issue and feel like a few written tests and passing practicals should assure us that you can either stay up to speed or need to be dropped a grade - or need extra tutoring over the summer." Well, the summer thing didn't sound too bad, but he was pretty confident he'd be able to pass their tests. He felt color return to his skin as the vision of an essay list the length of Hagrid vanished.

"When will I do these, sir?"

"On the weekends, of course," Severus said, eyeing the boy. He wasn't like Potter at all. He hardly ever argued about punishments, which this wasn't, but it probably felt like it. "Except special weekends, of course." Their should be relief flooding the boys face that he won't miss outings with his friends or games, but his face remains impassive.

"Alright. Do I, ah, get a list of the things covered?"

"Oh, indeed you do," Severus said smoothly, sliding a stack of parchments over to the boy. It was at least as thick as the space between his wrist and his elbow. He waited expectantly for the boy to argue, to pale, to turn green, to even _fidget_ but the boy acted as though this much reading was hardly new to him at all.

He took his wand out and preformed a lightweight charm on the papers and then a shrinking charm. Not for the first time, Snape wondered what Devlin's time with the Dark Lord had been like. Not for the first time, he wondered how much like the Dark Lord this little boy was. Hadn't the Dark Lord been a prodigy of sorts at Hogwarts?

"There is a schedule, I presume?" He asked politely. Severus passed him the tiny sheet of parchment. The boy nodded.

"If you need any help, Mr. Potter, you know to come to me."

"Thank you, sir."

"I mean it, Devlin." Now the boy _looked_ at him. "Your housemates may be less than thrilled to see you..."

"Oh, I'm sure they won't be thrilled at all sir." He tucked the schedule into his bag. "Thank you sir. If I may go now? I don't want to miss breakfast." Severus inclined his head.

OoOoOoO

Devlin had forgotten how loud and boisterous the Great Hall is at breakfast time. It reminds him of the camp. His eyes scan the hall and then he walks towards the Slytherin table. He doesn't let his nervousness show. He saunters over, like how Grandfather walks into a large meeting.

When he sits down, his neighbor glares at him and the other looks deathly afraid to be associated with him. They are both children of Death Eaters.

"Stop staring," he commands softly. One especially stuck up sixth year snorts.

"Like we'd even dream of listening to you, anymore."

"Because I escaped from Voldemort?"

No one answers, but everyone knows the answer.

"That would be a stupid reason for two very specific reasons: I escaped, which means I'm powerful, and secondly, I'm still his."

"You're not his anything," a boy says, a third year, leaning forward. "My Da says he was furious with you."

Devlin makes a show of shrugging. He'd known as much as soon as he'd decided to escape.

"I'm just like him. He would have done the same thing." Scorpius, across the table from him, frowns softly while the other students shake their heads, quite uncertain what to think except that he is mad.

oOoOoOo

Voldemort looks up into those dark green eyes and finds himself regarding them, considering them, wondering. It is merely a photo, but the young boy in the photo moves and smiles and looks so much like him as a boy, yet so very different. This must be what he would have looked like, smiling. The boy is only five in this photo. Geoffrey, he recalls, had taken the photo of the boy. He was doing something especially funny at the time, but Voldemort hadn't cared and so he doesn't remember what it had been. He doesn't care now, either. The past is the past. It hadn't mattered then, so it doesn't matter now. He'd found the photo in the boys room after he had been kidnapped by Potter. After he'd been taken away from him. Stolen. The boy was _his_.

'_I thought you would come for me...'_ The words had sent him into a rage that he hadn't been expecting. He had come for the boy. He'd sent Malfoy after him. The boy should have escaped from Potter's wards; he knew Devlin was more than capable!

His fist clenches.

The boy had done everything he wanted and then, out of no where, he had _run away_.

_Devlin_ had left _him_. The child belonged to him and he had run away. Why had a child who would kill for him, torture for him, all willingly, all with the correct desire, run back to Potter? Didn't he know Potter would condemn him? Didn't he know they wouldn't understand him? That they _never_ had?

He thinks back to when the boy had been thrown in front of him. He hadn't known about Potter's wife then. Hadn't known she was _his_ too. The boy had looked up at him and he had very nearly stopped breathing. He hadn't known why. There was nothing special about the boy, except that he hadn't screamed. He had been defiant and stubborn and this both infuriated and intrigued him. Something in his mind had made him pause and he knew then that there was something he was missing in. _He's a puzzle, _he had thought then, although not certain about what kind of puzzle or how interesting or complex it would end up being. He had to know though.

He unclenches his fist and twirls his wand again, remembering how the boy had managed to get it away from him, during one of their duels. He was a powerful boy and extremely intelligent. Devlin and he thought much alike...

Isn't that what he had wanted? To see for himself how powerful, how intelligent, how cunning, he would have been if he had been raised in the magical world?

He had been right about what would have happened, Devlin was the proof and now Devlin couldn't be allowed to fight for anyone but himself. He was too strong. Too intelligent. Too cunning. Devlin was also his obsession, his puzzle, his one _weakness_.

"My Lord?" He looks away from the picture and into Draco Malfoy's waiting regard.

"Crucio," he whispers absently. He certainly wasn't going to trust Draco to retrieve the boy again. If Devlin wanted _Voldemort_ to fight for him, then he would fight for the boy, but he wouldn't do it brashly like his father.

He was a Slytherin, after all.

_So is your boy_. He smirked as Draco screamed. Yes, Devlin was a Slytherin too.

He stood up, walked around Draco's still withering form, and out of the office. He had some charms to look up. The boy was at Hogwarts, safe and protected, but also not within his parents reach. He was not above other influences.

Voldemort wouldmake Devlin _want_ to be on his side.

oOoOoOoOoOo

Every three months, there is a special weekend, and on this special Saturday, all first and second years wake up early, get dressed, and clatter down to the hall to eat breakfast, a little happier than they would be on any ordinary weekend.

Devlin stomps down the stairs, quite unwilling to look like he's enjoying himself like the others. Others are staring at him. They've been noticeably nicer to him. They've stopped trying to hex him in the hallways, stopped calling him a traitor, stopped stealing his things. Devlin thinks he's right and a surge of triumph and that power rushes through him and calms him down, until all he can feel is the flutter of magic beneath his skin.

It is a Hogsmeade Weekend, but not the traditional one. It is for the younger years, a new tradition started just a few years before Devlin's attendance. Lots of parents come to visit on these weekends and Heads of Houses and Prefects act as chaperones. It is Devlin's first one ever. He's only just managed to convince his parents not to come. He's told them neither are Maria's parents and even though his dad hadn't seemed to get the clue, his mother had written him back and told him to have fun with his friends.

Maria is waiting outside the door and she grabs for his hand, swinging it through the air.

"Stop looking so serious," she chides gently, turning around a bit while they're walking to make a silly face at him.

"This is just my face." She frowns a bit.

"You were thinking about something," she states confidently.

"I'm always thinking, aren't you?"

"Not like you do. You're always thinking about those kinda things that make normal people's heads hurt."

He spares her a small, honest, smile.

"What are we going to do?"

"Well first we have to get chocolate from the candy store."

"I swear you live on chocolate."

"I do. Daddy says so too."

He laughs.

"There see, _that's_ your face!"

His mouth twitches as he tries to make it a neutral line again. It only makes Maria giggle more.

Finally they are before the huge front doors, waiting with all the other first and second years for the Professors and Prefects to lead them out. They trudge over the bridge and down the path and then, when the shops come into view, many children run for it. He hears shouts of "I have to meet my mum at the Three Broomsticks" "My Dad's at the candy store" and so on. Maria and he slow down, letting the crowd move past them. They wander into the candy store and buy the chocolate and then they get some pumpkin juice from the Three Broomsticks. Then they head for a little shop that seems to be getting no traffic whatsoever today - a bookstore. The owner looks up, startled.

"Firsties, in here?" He asks with a gruff thick accent. "Ravenclaws?"

"No," Devlin answers for them. "Are we allowed to sit and read for a bit before purchasing?"

"Of course," the man says, still eying them suspiciously. "No mischief though!" He nods and lead Maria into a corner. Maria wanders around for a bit, saying she's going to find some Charms books, while Devlin stays in the corner, looking up Potion books more advanced than the ones his mother and father had bought him.

Distantly he hears the bell ring that means someone's entered the store. He pulls down the advanced book from the tippy-top shelf and blows the dust off the spine.

When he looks up, he is met with gleaming green eyes and a smile.

Devlin freezes for a moment, his heart thumping against his chest, his blood pounding in his veins. He feels a bit whoosy, honestly and he is _very_ much aware of the very much _Dark_ potions book held in one of his hands. He lowers himself slowly off the stool and onto the floor, licking his suddenly dry lips. He drops the book behind him as quickly as possible, without drawing attention to the title. He tries to look calm and cool and collected. He tries not to show his fear at being caught here in this bookstore.

These aren't the killing curse green eyes that Devlin half expected to show up today, regardless of his letter. No, these eyes are darker, framed by handsome aristocratic features and perfectly parted hair.

"I told you that you looked like me, did I not?" The man asks, his words gentle but well formed. The sound of his voice makes you think him intelligent and powerful. Charming.

"Yes," he says simply. He wonders if he should scream. He must warn Maria. He opens his mouth to say something he hopes she will understand, but she is already returning, hardly glancing at the man as she squeezes past him to get to Devlin. She thinks he's just another customer.

"I found my book, did you find yours?" She asks, then she appears to look at his face, and she glances behind herself. She doesn't know him. No one outside of Albus and Minerva probably know who this man is, and those two teachers are not in attendance. She looks a tiny bit fearful, probably just because of his face. He reaches out for her, grabs her wrist, and pulls her behind himself.

"There is no need to protect her, Devlin," the man says softly, his handsome features breaking into a smile. "Maria, isn't it?"

The girl nods.

"Yes, yes. You and Devlin seem fated to be friends, otherwise, why rescue you from those Death Eaters, right?"

Her brow creases. This is their secret. No one outside of their parents and themselves know. Even as Devlin sees true fear begin creeping onto her features, he knows she's given him away as truly as if she'd actually said "yes he did rescue me", but Devlin doesn't feel afraid, because everything is so muted these days concerning this man.

Now those green eyes are back on Devlin.

"I'm not foolish, child. You told him not hurt her. You've made your conditions clear."

"Then let her leave this building."

The man makes a show of stepping out of the way, leaning his body against the bookshelf and spreading his arms so each hand is touching the shelves, too.

"Of course. Go ahead, Ms. Watson."

She looks between them.

"I'm not leaving, Devlin."

"Go. Now." Devlin seethes at her.

"I couldn't live with myself the last time. I'm not going anywhere."

Five months more in Gryffindor hasn't done her any good, thinks Devlin.

"I just wanted to chat. I thought it over. A boy like you needs an education from a well established school. It is best that you stay at Hogwarts."

Devlin looks a bit disbelieving.

"I certainly enjoyed my time there. How could I take the chance away from you?"

Devlin remains silent.

"Here," he holds out a pouch. Devlin simply regards him. "It is simply the money I always gave you for books."

"Why do you look like that?"

"Do you not like the change?"

"Why?"

"Do you think your friend would still be here, if I looked the other way? Do you think the shopkeeper would have let me in? Do you think the teachers would not have set the alarm?"

"Is that the only reason, so you didn't scare her or get noticed?"

"And also because charming looks did a lot for me that I'd almost forgotten about." He winks. "Don't you think this will look better in the newspaper?"

Devlin stares.

"Lord Voldemort, Fighting for the Wizard's Right!"

Maria's eyes go wide with terror. She grabs at Devlin.

"I don't want the money." Voldemort pockets it, shrugging.

"Well, perhaps we'll get to chit-chat again. I can see you have a day of fun to get back too." Devlin stands up, something not so easily done with Maria clinging to him so harshly. He leads them past the man.

"Oh, and Devlin?"

He stops for a moment, pushing Maria forward.

"Yes, sir?"

"That was an exquisite plan and an excellent execution, well I suppose the last should be plural, hmm?" The handsome features of Tom Riddle are smiling.

He walks as quickly from the store as he possibly can without appearing fearful.

"Don't tell anyone about that," he says to Maria.

"W-why?"

"Because I'll never get to leave the house! I have all sorts of wards _on_ me already. If they know...they'll pull me out of school."

She nods.

"You're not afraid of him," she states, as if it is a simple fact. It doesn't feel simple to Devlin at all.

"I have no reason to fear him. He wouldn't hurt himself."

"You're not him," she says firmly.

"No, but he's got us all tangled up in his head."

_**A/N: **_**Alright, I have to ask you one tiny question. How many of you thought I meant Harry when I said: "When he looks up, he is met with gleaming green eyes and a smile"? **

**I originally didn't have a paragraph between that sentence and "These aren't the killing curse green eyes". But then I went back and thought I could have a bit of fun. **

**Did it work? :D**

**Upcoming: **

"_**Stop**_**" he hisses at once, rushing to be between them. His mother is staring at him, quite uncertain. She reaches out to grab him. She wants to protect him. **

"**She's mine!" He says, finding it difficult to switch between the languages so quickly. **

**The snake is still hissing and swaying from side to side, but she has closed her jaw, hiding her fangs. **


	8. Anger Issues

"What cha doin'," Green asks, coming up to him in the library. Devlin whirls around in his chair, wand at the ready. "Whoa, I just came to study."

"Don't. Sneak. Up. On. _Me_."

"Alright, I won't do it again."

A fourth year Slytherin is giving them an odd look from across the library. Devlin lowers his wand slowly.

"I'm looking for a student who used to come here," he says by way of welcome, stacking a couple of the many books so that Green has enough room to set his book bag down.

"Want some help?"

"Are you going to tattle to your _daddy _about who I'm looking for?" He'd seen the man, once or twice, while he'd been at the camp.

Green looks taken aback, but then a smile tips his lips up, as if the taunt hadn't offended him in the least.

"He never asked me to tell him what we were studying about. Only mum asks about that, but she's only interested in grades."

Devlin knows the boy shouldn't have shared that with him. These may be his 'father's' orders, but the boy knows they come from Voldemort himself. The child is defying Voldemort for _him_. How Slytherin - after all, isn't he the closer danger?

"Fine, help me find a boy named 'Tom Riddle'."

"Any chance it will be listed as 'Thomas'?" The boy asks, slipping into his studious mode and pulling a book down from Devlin's high pile. They often study together. Devlin thinks they are the only two first year Slytherin's this year that could have been put in Ravenclaw and held their own.

"No, just Tom."

"I'd hate to have that name."

"Why?"

"Well, it's very common, isn't it? There are a lot of Tom's out there. It's so short, you can't even make a nickname out of it!"

Devlin frowns, still looking at his book, flipping page after page. Is that why Grandfather hated it? Because it was so common? How many other Tom's were there in the orphanage. How many _Thomas'?_ How many times had his grandfather thought they could have at least elaborated on his mother's shortening?

"Merlin's beard!" Kendall says softly, staring at something. Devlin leans across the table. "You didn't tell me we were looking for your time traveling twin!"

"Give it here," he whispers and the boy passes the book over.

There is a boy, from his first year, staring up out of the picture. His mouth is neither frowning nor smiling. His eyes are blank and black in the old colorless photo. He has his arms crossed. His hair, perfectly parted, is not quite as black as his school robes. Nothing about him is moving in this photo, except his eyes. He had probably never seen a wizard photo before - probably didn't know yet that he _could _move.

Devlin pulls a small blank piece of parchment out of his book bag and then his wand, copying the photograph onto the empty paper.

"Now find the same boy, we have six more left to find."

"Who is he? He seriously looks just like you!"

"Didn't your father tell you who I am?" Devlin whispers leaning close, urging the boy to be more quiet and discrete.

"Yeah, that you are _his_."

"His what?"

"Well, Da said 'grandson' but... you mean it's true?"

"Yes."

Kendall Green regards him with something different, something beyond just forced respect. Something real.

"Da went to school with Potter. He said he was _never_ that good with a wand. You're not good because of Potter, are you?"

Devlin smirks.

"My mum has a saying about me. She says I'm perfect, because I have the worst of the worst and the best of the best - which makes me more perfect than anyone else. She and I may differ about who is 'worst' and who is 'best' however," he winks and gives the boy a charming smile. "Now help me find the other photos."

"Yeah, alright."

Devlin finds he likes the look Green is giving him: part awe, part devotion, part respect and just a pinch of fear. It is like drinking a Pepper Up potion.

oOoOoOo

"You know, Potter, other people need to get ready for the day, too," comes the familiar drawl of his year mate William Fisher outside of the bathroom door. Devlin ignores him.

He is looking at himself in the mirror, the photographs of Tom Riddle floating before him. His hair parts the same way and when he frowns, their lips look like copies. He thinks they probably have the same jaw and cheek bones, but the other boy is more gaunt, whereas Devlin is more 'boyish'. They have the same brow and Devlin knows if he looks down and up through his fringe, they would look the same from above. It's not a perfect replica, but it is an uncanny similarity, nevertheless.

He summons the photographs into his hands and yanks the door open. Fisher is glaring at him from the other side. Scorpius has had the sense to simply summon another mirror and is preforming a freshening spell on himself. Devlin zones in on the perfectly manicured boy. Maybe he'll finally be of some use. He stalks over.

"Hey, Malfoy?" He asks, his voice polite, a charming smile on his face. Malfoy looks up and cringes; Devlin doesn't recall being this nice to the boy, ever (even when he was marginally enjoying the other boys company).

"Yes, Potter?" He asks, his voice a tightly controlled calm. He swallows hard and Devlin zones in on the weakness. The boy is actually afraid of him. Maybe his father has told him of what Devlin is capable.

"Tell me, how _do_ you get your hair to stay that way?"

The boys cheek twitches; he thinks Devlin is going to start teasing him about his obsessive grooming habits. Devlin doesn't deny that his voice might make the boy right to suspect such treatment from him.

"Charms," he admits finally, dismissing the mirror with a flick of his wand, turning around on one heel to face his wardrobe.

"Which charms?"

The blondes eyes narrow slightly, his lips pinch, his brow furrows: considering the request.

"Why would you want to know, Potter?"

"Just tell me." The boy will rat him out, word for word, to Voldemort if he tells him.

"I don't see why I should."

Devlin's smile falters and his eyes, before wide and cheerful, narrow to slits. He moves forward quickly, pushing the boy onto his own bed. His wand is at the boys head.

"It's none of your business _why_ I want to know. You wouldn't ask any of these other boys _why_ they wanted to know, if they asked. Don't try my temper, Malfoy. You look too much like your father for me not to curse you."

Malfoy swallows again. Devlin jabs his wand closer at the sign of weakness. The room is hushed. William is at the doorway to the bathroom, his toothbrush frozen at his teeth. Calloway is frozen in the act of digging through his trunk, Barret had been on his way out the door, but his hand has yet to turn the knob. Only Green is still moving, going about getting dressed, pushing past William to get into the bathroom, humming the same tune he does every morning, as if Devlin's anger and magic, swarming around him, doesn't bother him in the least.

"Alright, I'll show them too you." Devlin moves a step back, so the boy can stand. His wand is still aimed and ready and Malfoy moves slowly, as if afraid of provoking him.

"Do you want your hair slicked back or just parted differently?"

"I don't want it like yours," Devlin replies. The boys voice is softer than usual. Devlin doesn't feel guilty; he has no emotions associated with this face except bad ones. He wouldn't dare to push the other boys or so obviously threaten them, but his temper is short with Scorpius, because every taunt, jab, or sarcastic comment from the boy is ten times worse, bringing up memories and feelings Devlin tries hard to bury. He wants to dominate this boy; to feel dominate over those memories. Sometimes he wants the boy to cower in fear of him; like he had cowered in fear of the boys father.

The boy is nodding in compliance.

"Alright so, if you want it to part differently, you just part it with your wand and murmur a specific kind of sticking charm. Most sticking charms will make your hair look odd, but this one is meant for hair." Scorpius holds his wand to his own hair and parts it, murmuring, "_pilarsisto_."

The boy doesn't look so much like his father without his hair being slicked back. Devlin finds his wand lowering marginally, before he lifts it to his own head to try the spell. When he's done, he summons the mirror back and looks at himself. He looks much less like those photographs with it parted this way. It is more messy looking. He looks more like a Potter. He drops his wand and dismisses the mirror.

"Thank you." He moves toward the door and Barret moves out of his way. "By the way, that suits you well." Scorpius looks mildly shocked, but like his grooming-obsessed-self, scurries off to look in the mirror. Devlin wonders from his slightly-scared regard if the boy is worried Devlin had wandlessly done something to him. He hears a sigh of relief, confirming his thoughts. He pushes the door open, thinking maybe tomorrow he'll turn the boys hair blue or something.

Green catches up to him in the hallway, cheerful as ever.

"Hair looks nice," he says by way of greeting. "I'm _hungry_."

Devlin wonders if the boy has figured out, aside from Maria, he is practically Devlin's _only_ friend.

OoOoOoO

That weekend, he meets Remus for his first make-up test. He brings the prepared test on the difference between defensive and offensive spells. The Professor is seated behind his desk, grading papers.

"Hello, Mr. Potter." For a moment Devlin wonders why he isn't _Devlin_ to Remus, if somehow he knows he isn't worthy of the name anymore, until he realizes that they are in a is another student there, seated in the far back corner.

"Mr. Connor has a detention," Remus explains. Devlin nods and slides the test across Remus' desk.

"I'll have the other one to you tomorrow so you can have it ahead of time." It isn't due until the next week, but Devlin would rather get all this catching up over and done with.

"If you have any difficulty, you can ask for help. It must be very hard having missed all these classes."

"Thank you sir," Devlin says.

"Which is your very polite way of telling me you won't need the help."

Devlin smiles politely. "That's not what I said, Professor. I'll come to you if I get stuck, honest." Remus is smiling.

"Alright, then lets get on with these practicals, huh?"

So Devlin demonstrated the disarming spell, the immobilizing spell, and the shield spell. Remus reminded him about the test about how to treat werewolf bites. Devlin nodded and they both shared a secret smile.

OoOoOoO

Sunday was filled with Professor McGonagall and matches into needles, shrinking and expanding, and a multitude of colors. She reminded him that he had an essay due for her class Monday on Switching Charms. He nodded politely.

"We're all glad to have you back, Mr. Potter," she said as he was packing his bag. He looked up, a bit startled. McGonagall and he had never really got on, even though she'd been fair to him after that first day. She couldn't seem to shake his likeness to his grandfather and he couldn't seem to shake being judged by his looks. He isn't sure what to say to her.

"You have your father's look of concentration," she continues and Devlin realizes she is truly trying to apologize. "And his grin. I find it a wonderful thing to see that grin without having to worry about my classroom exploding."

He flashes her a charming smile and nods.

"Thanks for the lesson, Professor. I'll see you Monday."

She nods and he escapes into the hallway.

OoOoO

Devlin gets his first letter not from his parents, Remus, or Sirius. It comes wrapped in plain brown paper, just like most of the packages being flown into the Great Hall. The owl carrying the package is a drab looking barn owl, hardly different from the Hogwart's owls themselves. Devlin half expects to see Albus' handwriting on the package, but instead he nearly chokes on his oatmeal at the sight of his grandfather's writing instead. He is about to shrink the box to avoid it being noticed, but right below the neat: To Devlin Augustus Potter, is another note 'Fragile. Not for shrinking-charms'

Devlin puts it at his feet under the table, keeping it between his two shoes so no one steals it, then he finishes quickly so he'll have enough time to rush it back to his dorm room.

He almost makes it without being seen, except that Scorpius is in the room when he gets there.

"Get a late present?" The boy asks, eying the box. Devlin looks at the boy that appears so much like his father. If he and his father weren't so similar, Devlin thinks they might actually be mates, but every time he looks at the boy, he thinks of Draco.

"Yes," he says softly. The boy won't snitch, at least not to anyone that Devlin cares about, so he opens it in front of the boy. "From The Dark Lord."

Scorpius' eyebrows raise up.

Devlin is past the paper and now opens the box itself. Inside is a tiny little thing that he thinks might be dead, but then it lifts it's beautiful speckled head and flicks it tongue out at him.

"_Hello,"_ it hisses, a tone of uncertainty lacing it's voice. A snake. His Grandfather had given him a snake.

"What is it?" The blond boy asks.

"Sod off," Devlin says, closing the box up and shoving it under his bed. He'd have to figure the snake out during free period. The blond boy is gone when he turns around. Scorpius always listens to him - he is, after all Voldemort's _Prince_.

**A/N: I donno if this story just sucks or I'm updating too frequently to warrant any reviews. I came to accept with "Devlin Potter's Story" that this is just such a niche category that I wasn't going to get lots of reviews (even though I got lots of **_**views). **_**But come on, 0 reviews? Doesn't one person like this enough to leave a comment? **

**I'm going to start updating less frequently, to give **_**at least**_** one person time to review. **

**I'm a bit stuck after chapter 11. Some positive words would be really nice. **

**Upcoming:**

"**Can't you...can't you understand her?" He asks his mother. She shakes her head. **

"**No. I didn't... inherit that talent." She's still a bit breathless. "Scared to death of them anyways, so perhaps it's for the best...where did you find it?"**


	9. A Little Scream

**This chapter is dedicated to BixyLee because Bixy is the first to review this story and on top of that, the review was so nice too! **

At free period, while everyone else is studying in the common room, Devlin rushes back to the snake. It is a beautiful moss green color with light brown diamonds enclosed by black frames across its back. It's little head lifts, its tongue sneaking out and flickering. He fights the urge to simply trust the creature and instead preforms some diagnostic spells, making sure the animals is genuine, healthy, and charm-free. When he puts his hand in the box, it slithers onto his hand, weaving between his fingers. It is barely the width of his thumb, hardly longer than one and half of his palms. It looks harmless enough.

"_Hello_," it hisses again, still sounding so uncertain.

"_Hello."_ He isn't sure what to say to the little snake and for a while they simply stare at each other. Her scales, silky soft, weave in and out of fingers. It's almost as comforting as twirling his wand.

"_Are you my speaking human?" _

"_What do you mean?"_

"_The big speaking human said I was meant for a small speaking human." _

"_Oh...I guess I am." _

The snake raises its head a bit, as if regarding him more closely.

"_How old are you?" _Devlin asks. It looks like such a baby.

"_I have not eaten." _

"_That's not what I asked. I ask how _old_ you are." _

"_I have not yet eaten." _Devlin frowns, then realization dawns on him. It is a brand new hatchling. It hasn't even made it's first kill.

"_Are you a girl or boy?" _

"_Girl." _

"_Do you have poison?" _

"_Yess,"_ she replies, opening her jaw wide to show her fangs. Devlin puts her down on the bed, a little more cautious. This could be a cruel way to kill him.

"_How do I know you won't hurt me - or others?"_

"_You are my speaking one," _she says, all at once certain. As if this made everything perfectly clear.

"_What do you eat?"_ He's not about to let it lose (he doesn't trust her), but even though he'll keep her hidden beneath his bed, he won't let her starve.

"_Small crawling things..."_ the snake says, and she sounds a bit uncertain again.

"_Right...I'll try and find a small thing for you to eat later today." _

He picks her up again (carefully) and deposits her in the box. He wards the box and tucks it under his bed. Anyone foolish enough to touch something of his that is _warded_ and addressed to him in the Dark Lords script, deserved to be bitten.

OoOoOoO

It only takes a couple hours in the library to find out that mice, very small ones, would be the proper thing to feed her. If he were home, he might have been able to convince Emity to catch him some mice, but as it is, he's not quite sure how to catch them himself. He's managed to summon some small insects while standing outside, but he doesn't think the small snake will be too pleased.

"What yeh doin', Devlin?"

Devlin whips around, but Hagrid's voice is so distinctive, that he already knows who to expect. His great big dog comes loping over to him, his tail wagging, his muzzle open in a pant. Devlin scratches his head. "Always impressed that he don' jump on yeh."

"He knows I wouldn't like that," Devlin says fondly, scratching behind the dogs ears, but avoiding his drooling muzzle.

Hagrid regards him in the way he always does when Devlin makes comments about this sort of thing.

"Yeh like animal's, don' yeh?" It isn't a statement, it is a true question. Devlin bends his neck backwards so he can look up at Hagrid. There is normally only a smile there, a sparkle of happiness in those brown eyes; an overall friendliness, whichever way you look on the half-giant. Right now, there is uncertainty and soft hope.

When Devlin was eight, he hadn't been sure what looks like this meant. Dumbledore had given him these looks, when he asked about part of his personalities. His father had given him these looks, when he'd asked how he _felt_ about something, or that time he'd stolen that trinket from him and hid it in his room. Now Devlin is eleven, and he thinks he understands them a great deal more. He looks just like Voldemort.

"I really do," he says.

"Yeh, I thought so. No Kneazle would choose yeh otherwise."

Devlin smiles reassuringly.

"Hagrid?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think you could help me? You see, I found this tiny little snake," he held up his palm to show it was so small, "but I haven't any idea what to feed her. She's very hungry."

"A snake?" Hagrid asks, a bit fearfully. "I donno much abou snakes..."

"Well, she says she eats small crawling things..."

"She talks to yeh?"

Hagrid seems a little worried.

"My dad talks to them too," he reminds the half-giant gently. "And she's so _tiny_. She won't get very big, I don't think."

"Well thats true. I suppose if she's only a tiny thing..."

Devlin smiles.

"I have some mice - you might be able to get a teacher to shrink one or two for yeh."

Devlin smiles and eagerly follows Hagrid to his hut.

OoOoOoO

"You asked to see me, Professor?"

Severus' dark eyes bore into him and Devlin automatically checks his Occlumency shields, but the Professor isn't trying to see his thoughts.

"Your mother and father will be here to pick you up for a family _event_ a couple days early. I expect you to meet up with Hagrid after your last class before lunch, Friday."

Family event? Oh...his transformation. It is still several days away.

"Yes sir."

OoOoOoO

By Thursday he is carrying the snake with him in his pocket. He finds her to be an intelligent creature, capable of conversing with him in-between classes. He only speaks to her while no one is around and she seems capable of following his directions to be quiet.

When it is time to go home, he brings her with him. She coils and recoils in his pocket, complaining that it is cold. Hagrid, who is walking him to the Disapparation point, appears not to notice and Devlin uses his magic to warm the pocket up. The little snake hisses in pleasure. Hagrid's dog begins to sniff at his pocket, but one word from Hagrid has the dog leaving him be.

"I brought a cookie from breakfast," Devlin lies easily, making his voice sheepish and copying the way his father always has a hand behind his head. Hagrid smiles and they continue on.

His father is at the gates. There is a grin on his face, but his eyes are guarded. Devlin frowns. This is almost, but not quite, the Harry Potter he remembers.

"Devlin!" He calls and there is the same love and possession and excitement that there has always been. Devlin lets himself smile a tiny bit.

Hands wrap around him. Strong hands that hold him tightly, too light to be hurtful, strong enough to remind him that he's _real_. He's there. He's alive. He's himself. His father smells like dust and earth and...Goblins. He frowns, but perhaps his father had simply gone to Gringotts earlier today.

"How you been, Devlin?" He asks softly, into his hair. Something in Devlin melts at the question and he wants to tell his father, through trembling sobs, how not okay he's been, but then another part hardens and hisses _'what would the great Harry Potter think of his son now?'_ and he forces his breath to come evenly.

"Alright," he says instead, wiggly free of the hug and glancing at Hagrid, as if to reprimand his father for such emotional displays in front of a Professor. His father gives a sheepish grin.

"Thanks Hagrid."

"O'course Harry."

And now his father is leading him away, down the pathway to Hogsmeade, with an arm slung around his shoulder. He feels the wards shatter around them as they cross through them. Devlin holds his breath. Will Voldemort come now for him?

"Are we really...walking..."

Harry looks at him sidelong and Devlin realizes how little they look alike with that regard on their faces. Devlin looks cunning and sinister when he does that, Harry looks kind and trustful and a bit younger.

"I'd love to, but we're going to Disapparate right about _here." _He holds tighter to Devlin and soon they are being pulled and twisted and then, they are standing in front of their house. His father stands up where he had fallen to his knees, but Devlin is still on his feet.

"You're good at that," his father says, breathlessly. "I only _just_ managed to pass my Traveling Technique course to become an Auror. I did better at this then the floo, though." He laughs and they step through the wards.

It is nearing lunch time and Devlin can smell all kinds of things cooking. His father's hand is around his shoulder again. They walk up to the house together.

Then something makes him freeze. A scream. For a moment he thinks the worst, and his father's momentary twitch means he had, too, but then the door is thrown open and it is Emma, screaming in delight. She'd seen them from the window.

"DEVLIN!" She throws herself at him and he catches her, holding her in the air. She's a tiny thing, like Harry had been as a child, whereas Devlin takes after his grandfather.

"Hi, Emma," he says, smiling. He puts her down and she grabs both their hands, dragging him and their dad into the house, where lunch is waiting.

"Welcome back, guys," his mother says, and throws them both a smile. "Now go wash up for lunch."

Devlin nods. He also stops to put the little snake on his desk. His warming charm is wearing off and she seems more than mildly disturbed by the apparition. He tells her to stay there, because he isn't sure about the _'big four-legged creatures' _in the house. The window above his desk shines a square of light onto the surface and she slithers over, happily curling into a circle.

"_Little me likess this,"_ he has yet to name her, but it seems his nickname 'little you' has begun to wear off on the snake.

oOoOoOo

Emma keeps him so busy with her pleas for information about his classes and friends, that he forgets to take his bag up to his room that night. The next evening, while his dad leaves to run an errand, and Devlin changes Emma's hair color to make her giggle, his mum asks if she can put the bag away for him and Devlin says 'alright', without really thinking. The snake doesn't even cross his mind.

When his mum screams, the snake still isn't foremost on his mind, and he pulls Emma from her chair and shoves her into a closet. She is crying. He has already cast a silencing charm around them.

"Expecto Patronum," he whispers and the great silver wolf is there, looking at him intently. "Guard her." It is the best he can think to do, and still be able to help his mother.

The wolf gives a sagely nod and goes into the closet with Emma.

"It's alright Emma. Don't say anything until you hear me say our password, you remember it, right?"

She nods and he closes the door, rushing up to his room. His mum has stopped screaming, but that isn't always a good thing...

He throws his door open, his wand in his hands, a sardonic comment on the tip of his tongue, but his wand his useless and there is no one in the room at which he would throw the cutting comment.

His mum is standing there, alone in his room, except for the little snake. Her head is in the air, her fangs clearly visible, and she is doing a little dance from side to side, as if trying to put his mother into a trance.

"_Stop_" he hisses at once, rushing to be between them. His mother is staring at him, quite uncertain. She reaches out to grab him. She wants to protect him.

"She's mine!" He says, finding it difficult to switch between the languages so quickly.

The snake is still hissing and swaying from side to side, but she has closed her jaw, hiding her fangs.

"Yours?" His mother asks, a bit pale and breathless.

"_Little me is trying to speak to the big human, but she is only screaming and lifting her magic stick." _

"Can't you...can't you understand her?" He asks his mother. She shakes her head.

"No. I didn't...I didn't inherit that talent." She's still a bit breathless. "Scared to death of them anyways, so perhaps it's for the best...where did you find it?"

"I didn't find it," he says, while he reaches over and scoops the tiny snake up. She still is not much longer than his hand, and she fits perfectly in his cupped hands, curling into a ball. "Voldemort sent me her..."

He waits for her demand that the snake die. That she be sent elsewhere. That she is a trap.

"I see..." she says slowly, eyeing the creature with a forced-calm. "Are you sure she is not spelled."

"Yes."

She looks up quite suddenly at him. There is seriousness in her eyes and also kindness and it all mingles together to make Devlin's stomach feel like ice.

"I don't know what you feel for him, exactly, Devlin," she begins, her eyes flickering impulsively to the snake. She really is afraid of them, Devlin can see. "But he will have to atone for what he has done."

"I know."

"The world is working against him just as he is working against the world."

"I know."

"If we win, he will die."

"I know."

"You may keep the snake. She looks...beautiful."

Devlin knows there is so much more to that conversation, but he also knows neither one of them really wants to speak the truth.

If Voldemort wins, Devlin will surely live, but his parent's will not be spared. If they win, Devlin will surely live, but his grandfather will die. If Voldemort wins, the world will come to fear Devlin as well.

Devlin knows he isn't an ordinary boy.

Voldemort had went about experimenting to see what he himself would have been like and inadvertently created a weapon. A living, breathing weapon that could choose who it would arm.

"I should fetch Emma..." He says, to break the silence that is like a suffocating haze between them.

"Fetch her?" His mum asks and that is when Devlin leads her to the closet and she stares in both horror and admiration at the wards around his sister and the wolf that saunters out, only to disappear at a wave of Devlin's hand. Emma pouts at it's disappearance, saying it was 'pretty'. Being that it is a werewolf, Devlin frowns and makes sure to tell her not to go near one except his silver one.

That night, after they've been sent to bed, Devlin hears the 'crack' of apparition outside.

**Upcoming: **

**His mothers door clicks open and shut, so softly that he knows it is purposeful. He presses himself against his door, hand resting on the knob, ready to race out and help. **

**PLEASE REVIEW! **


	10. A Trip to the Sea

**Dedicated to BixyLee, Raquel, and Jmeec316! It's here this quickly because of you! **

He sits bolt up right in bed and rushes to his window. There are two cloaked figures, moving slowly up to the house. His heart hammers against his chest. He twirls his wand restlessly. His feet fidget, desperately awaiting him to give them the command to _run_. To save Emma. To warn his mother. But the direction won't come and he stands frozen. Something is _wrong. _

One man is limping.

He narrows his eyes.

The other man is holding the limping man upright.

These cannot be Death Eaters...unless it is a trap?

The limping man's hood falls backward and the red hair and lanky form are instantly recognizable. Ron Weasley.

Who is the other one?

They are at the door now and he slinks over to his door as he hears the front door click open. With magic. He shivers. This is feeling an awful lot like the story Voldemort had told him. He checks his hand - yes, he still has a wand. You should always have your wand.

His mothers door clicks open and shut, so softly that he knows it is purposeful. He presses himself against his door, hand resting on the knob, ready to race out and help.

"Thirsty! Please, Harry! I need water! You promised!" It sounds like a small child, dissolved into whines and cries and whimpers, but Devlin knows that is Ronald's voice.

"I know Ron. Just a bit longer, mate."

"Now! I need it _now_."

His mothers feet are on the steps.

"Harry?"

"It's me, Alex."

"Prove it, Harry," she demands, ever so softly, ever so kindly; as if this is as simple a routine as the way his father kisses her every time they play that one song on the radio. As if this is normal. But Devlin knows that odd things are quite normal for his family.

"Last night you were whining about all your babies turning into children and then you turned to me and said 'I want another'."

Devlin's eyes go wide. Another?

"Harry! Water! Water! Water!" The desperation in Ron's voice makes Devlin stop thinking about anything else. Had they been where he thought they had? Why?

"Alright." Devlin imagines his mother has lowered her wand at his father's proof. "Did you find it? Are you hurt? What is wrong with Ron?"

"We found it and I don't know what is wrong with Ron. There was a potion - I need Severus."

Devlin feels his stomach turn to ice. He creeps out of his room and to the top of the stairs. Their backs are to him as they lead Ron into the living room. The scent of sea spray and sand waft up the stairs. He inches down the stairs and stretches his neck so that he can see around the doorframe.

Severus comes through the floo and Devlin can see him dressed in a black night robe, bending over the now begging Ron.

"Harry please. I just need some water. Just a little. Just-"

"Mr. Weasley, please refrain from your annoying rambling so I can think!"

"Give me some damn water and I will!"

"I have never seen this potion before. I know of no antidote. It is clear it is deteriorating his mental capabilities and causing nerve damage, but I cannot know if either is temporary or permenant. We could easily kill him with any attempt to save his life, as we could by doing nothing." There is little emotion to Severus' voice, as if he wouldn't care either way. Yet the fact that he is there, in the middle of the night, shows he certainly does care. In this respect, Lord Voldemort and Severus Snape are very much the same, but it is really only this aspect.

"What are you saying, Severus?"

"I'm saying, Mr. Potter - give him the water he wants."

Devlin creeps around the doorframe. He stands there, quite visible. The regard between his father and Severus is intense. His mum is trying to calm Ron.

"Don't give him water," Devlin says, just loud enough to catch everyones attention. Those black orbs are intense upon him, searching his face. "You'll kill him if you do."

"Explain yourself," his Potions Professor demands.

"It's a torture potion," he says softly. "A drop of water, and he's dead."

"And how would you know, Mr. Potter?"

"Grandfather once used it to punish someone." He allows himself to blink calmly before continuing. "You should tie him up. It brings accidental magic to the surface. Disrupts your normal magic. You should tie him up, magically. It's better when you know you can't have it."

His mother looks, as always, cautious and his father looks like he wants to doubt Devlin, probably because anything else would be admitting Devlin had _seen_ someone being tortured.

"Prove it," Snape says cooly. Harry's gaze snaps to his old teacher, looking ready to admonish him.

Devlin smirks and tips his head up, gazing steadily into the Potion Master's eyes.

"Make me and I will."

Snape draws his wand. Devlin half notices that his father had been able to draw his own just as quickly and has it pointed at Snape, but he doesn't seem to have the intent to curse the man, either.

"That will do," Snape says suddenly, without peering into Devlin's mind at all.

"Trust me?" Devlin asks, smirking.

"Yes." The answer surprises Devlin momentarily and he frowns as the three adults tie Ron up. Ron, on his part, has dissolved into tears and when Harry asks if he wants them to call Hermione, he shakes his head.

"Don't Harry. You wouldn't want Alex to see you like this." It is perhaps the most lucid Devlin has seen him. A moment later, he is begging for water again, sobs racking his body, fear in his eyes. Devlin doesn't close his eyes, shake, or cry. He's seen this before; that fear, that involuntary shiver of uncertainty, that half-madness - Devlin has seen all of it in those men who he had killed and tortured. He makes himself stay there. When that numbness starts to creep upon him, he tries his best to shove it aside.

Eventually, he falls asleep in one of the comfy chairs in the living room, listening to Ron's begging. The three adults have taken shifts watching him. By mid afternoon, he has stopped begging for water, and Devlin goes and fetches a glass from the Devlin puts the glass, full to the brim with that, in front of Ron, he just stares at it fearfully, his untied hands trembling. There are no tears in his eyes, no desperate shuttering breath.

"It's okay to drink now," Devlin says kindly.

"Maybe...maybe I should wait a couple more hours."

"If you think you can do that, then the potion is out of your system." Devlin tries to keep his voice calm, reassuring; like mother would use if he were sick or father would use if he had woken from a nightmare.

"How would..how can you be sure, Devlin?" His brown eyes raise fearful towards the little boy.

"I've seen it," he says, in that same kind way, with that same knowing look on his face, with those same wise eyes piercing into his soul like only Dumbledore's can do. Magic, soft and featherlike, brushes past Ron and he knows the boy hadn't intended to extend his reassurances to his magic, but it is there nonetheless.

"Maybe they died after you'd left!" Still, there is a fear that he cannot shake. A terror of how he had been last night, so unlike himself that it cannot be reversed as easily as _waiting_.

"He once punished me with it, too," Devlin says softly and Ron's eyes snap away from the cup and into those dark green eyes again. Those eyes may not be as bright as Harry's but Ron swears they are the same color Harry's had been all those years Devlin was missing, when he had feared that Harry's eyes would someday turn black from all his anguish. When Devlin had been a baby he had always been a picky child who believed only his parents comfort good enough to fix a boo-boo or a perceived trauma, and Ron and Hermione had long learned to simply bring the boy to one or the other of them when he cried, which was rarely. Right now, he has the desperate need to reach out and pick the boy up and bring him to Alex or Harry, like he had when the boy was tiny. 'Here, he's upset,' he would say and Alex would kiss him and make it all better, or Harry would do some magic trick or offer to take him on his broom, and the boy would be giggling again. He wants to see the boy smile. Ron can see Severus, who must be taking this Ron-watching shift, eyeing Devlin with something he can only link to: decoding. Like Devlin is some sort of Potion ingredient that he hasn't found a use for yet, but is sure is quite valuable.

"It's okay to drink." The boy says again and Ron nods.

Devlin watches him reach forward to take the glass from the low table and bring it to his lips. Trusting him. It makes Devlin feel odd, having someone trust him like that, who isn't innocent like Emma. Emma doesn't know better, but Ron is trusting him even though he knows he could lie. It's almost like when he'd told Green he was Voldemort's grandson and his friend had looked at him like that - like he was someone powerful. He feels that same Pepper-Up potion effect now, rushing through him.

"What were you looking for?" He asks Ron. Ron shakes his head.

"Can't tell you, little man. Top secret." A sigh of contentment leaves his lips as a long sigh after he's swallowed a second gulp of the water.

"Ahuh." Devlin tries to keep the aura of trustworthiness around him, although he isn't sure why Ron believed him in the first place so he can't be entirely sure how to act again. He's not sick anymore, so acting like his mum and dad won't do the trick.

"Would if I could."

He looks at Ron's dirty mucky clothes. They smell of seaspray. He decides maybe being reassuring isn't going to get him anywhere now that Ron isn't afraid. Fear, Devlin is realizing, is what makes reassurance so powerful - without the first the latter just isn't as persuasive. He feels the other emotions that he could use flicker through his mind at rapid speed. Which would be best suited for this? Which would be most likely to appeal to the Auror before him?

"Grandfather took me to the seaside once," Devlin says calmly, allowing a hint of confidence to enter his eyes. Just enough or Ron to look at him like he is now: like this might be some sort of trap. "He took me to where he learned to speak to snakes."

"Is that so?" Ron asks, licking his lips, visibly swallowing. Devlin has made him uncertain after he'd been so certain. Devlin feels another rush of that pepper-up feeling rush through him. He doesn't bother to answer the non-question.

"I know a lot about Voldemort. I even know," he says softly, leaning forward so his lips are right by Ron's, "where you must have been last night."

"Oh yeah, where?" Ron is questioning him, but Severus is eyeing him, urging him not to speak further. Devlin feels his lips part in satisfied smirk. He leans back on his heel.

"Can't say. Top secret."

Ron is looking at him intently and Severus' lips are in a thin line, but all of this is how Devlin thought it would be, so he's undisturbed.

"If you know something, Devlin..." It is his father, sleep-deprived and looking drawn out. He wasn't supposed to be here, but Devlin won't allow this confidence to leave him. He feels in control for a moment and he's been trying desperately to feel this way since he left camp. He is safe when he is in control.

"I know plenty," Devlin says, still calm and cool and collected. "But I can't tell you any of it."

"Why not?"

"I promised." He shrugs.

He lets the silence hang between them all, answering the unspoken demand.

"You know," he said, "he thought it was his father that was a wizard. He reasoned that if his mother were a witch, she would have helped herself, not died. When he learned otherwise, he was furious. He said that loving a muggle muddled with her brain. That was the first time he killed." Devlin had never sworn to secrecy about this specific topic. Dumbledore knew as much and Voldemort had told him just months ago, while trying to convince Devlin that he himself could kill.

'_It had been easy. Easier than I thought. I just had to wish it, to feel the need, and point my wand.' _

Harry is staring at him and for the first time, Devlin sees fear in his eyes for an altogether different reason than he has before. For the first time, Harry sees Devlin for the weapon he is. Devlin probably knows _everything _they need to know, but there would be no way to make the boy tell without harming him mentally.

His eyes fly to Severus. If Severus tells Dumbledore...

Severus is regarding Devlin intently. Harry takes a step forward instinctually, towards his son.

"Oh, you foolish boy," Severus whispers, and Harry falters. Harry doesn't know what he means, but Devlin must; there is a horrible fear in his son's eyes now. Those green orbs are frantically searching Severus' face and Harry realizes that between them, lay some secret that Devlin had been trying to keep. It was exposed and vulnerable between them, but lost on everyone else.

"Telling you those things, making you do those things...," Severus says, slowly and carefully, eyeing Harry before he continues, "it was his way of making you...vulnerable." With that, Severus rises and reaches for their floo powder and throws some into the flames.

"I have essays to grade," he says, and departs.

OoOoOoO

Hermione comes shortly afterwards to pick Ron up, and after whispering with his 'aunt' and 'uncle' Harry cheerfully wakes Emma up and asks her if she'd like to 'help babysit' Hugo. Of course, she can't refuse and the gleam in her eyes says she doesn't suspect she is not really needed to help.

"I will need to bring some toys, Daddy," she is saying in her I-am-not-so-little voice, and begins packing a backpack. Finally, Hermione and Ron and Emma leave, and then his mothers blue eyes and his father's green eyes, are back on him. Devlin shifts uncomfortably.

"What did Severus mean. What _things." _The air seems to have gone very cold. Devlin draws his knees up to his chest.

All that confidence and control have been yanked away from him by a simple sentence of Snape's. Devlin feels hurt and angry at the same time and can't be sure which is winning.

"Severus says that if I don't tell you, Voldemort will torment you with it, when you meet him next." He looks up. His mum looks calm, his father looks terrified. He wonders if his father looks terrified when he is in front of Voldemort. His words are half angry and half too many other emotions to calculate. "I did things," he says, folding his hands in his lap. "_Bad_ things."

He looks up. He can't be weak. He is not a child.

"What bad things?" It seems for all the calm that his mother is portraying, it is his father who has the bravery to ask.

Devlin blinks, feeling himself seep away again; becoming numb. He lets himself.

"I had to prove it to him." _Don't think. Don't feel. Just do what has to be done._ He knows they will hate him if they know, but some desperate part of him wants to stop _pretending_ to be this regular boy he no longer can be. "He wanted me to prove to him that I was _loyal._" He shrugs and feels himself seep away a little bit more. "He tortured me. It felt like Crucio, then I realized it wasn't and knew he didn't want me _dead_ and I knew I had a chance," he breathes in, but doesn't dare to look up. "I took the chance. I wanted to live."

He hears his mother's breathing getting heavier.

"I did what he wanted."

"And what did he want?" It is his mother and her voice is wavering.

"He wanted me to kill a man." He tries to feel nothing, because he knows if he feels anything in this moment, he'll stop talking and breathing and _existing. _He just knows it.

He chances a glance up. His father's eyes are closed. His mother still looks calm, but he knows that she really isn't. She and he are much the same.

"I failed the first time, then he told me to think of someone else I wanted to _just fall down and never get up_ and I thought of those men who hurt Maria. I killed him. He was already more than half way gone, they'd given him some kind of potion so he'd be able to sit up straight."

His mother takes a step forward, no doubt thinking _this_ is the _bad_ thing, but Devlin opens his mouth again, and he sees his mothers eyes begin to shimmer with tears as her feet falter - as she realizes he's not done.

"After I killed the man, he kept asking me to do _more._ I made people scream, tortured them, made them do things, killed them too."

"Is that when you escaped?"

Devlin pulls his knees up and hides his head in them. He wants to disappear, to be invisible. To hide from these eyes that love him when they shouldn't want to be near him.

"No. I would have done that. I would have kept doing that." _Don't look up, don't look up_. He doesn't want to see the fear in his father's eyes that he is just like _Voldemort_ because Devlin already know's he isn't at all like his father. "They wouldn't let me near any newspapers. Death Eaters weren't allowed to speak to me about things happening. He told me he was going on a raid and when he got back, he said it was a raid on Hogsmeade and he said he'd blown the school up. Emma's school. He looked at me and told me, basically, that he'd killed her. Not that he knew. Not that he'd cared to know. The next raid he went on, I escaped." He doesn't tell him why he suspects Voldemort told him the lie - to make him angry, to make him a better killer.

"There were two guards. One went for coffee. I made the other fall down. I could have stunned him, but I wasn't sure it would last...so I killed him. I wanted him to fall down and never get up. I levitated him. I made him sit back at the table...made it look like he was asleep," Devlin shutters. "I sat with him, because the other guard had to come _all_ the way in. When he did, I made him fall down too. I had to kill them both so I would have enough time. I didn't know how large the wards extended, or if I'd be able to get through them at all. It was a different camp. Then I ran. I spent most of my time in wolf form, with my Patronus to guide me. I don't remember much, honestly..." He won't tell them anymore than he has to - no more than Voldemort knows himself. He can't be sure that werewolf was ever found, so he won't tell them.

His mother is crying, his father is simply staring at him. It is his father who comes forward, pulls him off the sofa and into his arms. He is strong and safe and smells like seaspray still.

"You are such a brave boy, Devlin," he whispers, planting kisses into his hair, onto his cheeks, onto any piece of skin he can find. His mother comes over and they sit on the sofa and simply hold him.

Devlin stares ahead of him or buries his head into their bodies, because he doesn't want them to see that he isn't crying. He can't cry anymore. He isn't normal. Perhaps, he never was. Perhaps, like grandfather said, he was just like him.

After his father carries him upstairs and lays him in bed, after his mother tucks him in and kisses him goodnight, after his father says it wasn't his fault, after his mother says she loves him, no matter what, and after they've both closed the door and retreated downstairs, Devlin lets the words he had wanted to say so much, slip past his lips: "...I know I am like him...I know there is something wrong with me inside...something missing."

**Upcoming: "****"If you don't start talking to me," she threatens, clenching her hands tighter and leaning closer to him. Her voice drops. "If you don't stop ignoring me, I will march right up to the Headmaster's office and tell who we met in Hogsmeade!" **

**He frowns. Perhaps Gryffensdorism wasn't wearing off on her too well, after all. This was rather Slytherin in nature."**

_**Please review! I'm still having a massive bout of writers block after chapter 11 (which is really chapter 12 now since eight and nine were originally one chapter...). Anyways, you get the idea. HELP!**_


	11. Anyone But Her

**BixyLee you are awesome, thank you for making me ramble about Devlin. I'm posting this chapter because I think I finally can progress past chapter 12 in my head! Thank You! **

**IMPORTANT NOTICE:** I am rewriting the first part of this series "Devlin Potter's Story" and a part of this chapter makes reference to a part that I added to the original story. I'm going to include a snippet of the rewritten chapter from Devlin Potter's Story, so you aren't lost. It's not necessary to read, but it will help make things clear.

FROM DEVLIN POTTER'S STORY: _Occlumency Lessons_

"While effective," Snape says, "that is not the way we're learning. Please refrain your feral inclinations. _You _have to learn how to do this, not count on brute strength from your wolf." He nods, blowing out a breath and inhaling deeply. _Don't think. Don't feel. Just do what you have to do. _He can do this. He is Dubhán - Heir to Lord Voldemort, _and_ Harry Potter, survivor of Crucio, the only boy who can make Voldemort smile.

"One, two, three – _Legilimenecy!"_

The room sways, but he narrows his eyes and brings everything into focus again. He breathes again, forcing the fear out of his mind. He won't be afraid. Fear is where it all starts and he won't allow it to start.

Snape's mind is like a thick fog, like misty soldiers marching into his territory. He pretends there is an army in _his_ head, all lined and prepared with their wands held high, for Snape's attack.

But his soldiers falter and fail him and Snape gains entrance regardless and now he is in pain.

"_Crucio." Pain. It is inside him. It is on his skin. In his eyes. On his lips. In his bones and their marrow. It is __**everywhere. **__He can feel it searing his nerves as it rushes through him. It's in his mind and he can hardly think of anything but it, the pain. His limbs want to thrash around. He makes them tense and tries desperately to keep command over them…he must not scream._

"Devlin!" It is the lady, she is shouting. He wonders why she is shouting, until he realizes that he is on his knees with his head thrown back, screaming. He collapses. Above him the lady is saying words to the professor and he knows she's worried.

"M'okay," he mumbles, rising to his knees. "Do it again. I'll do better." He stands up, swaying. Snape is looking weary again and for a moment Dubhán thinks he sees concern in those eyes. He looks away and pretends it hadn't been there. He hopes the man will keep his word.

He pretends he's standing in front of Grandfather, who would never let him stop without succeeding first.

"Dubhán, sweety-" It's the lady. He knows what she's going to say.

"Please, sir. I can do better. I'm fine." He straightens himself up, wipes the emotions from his face, and stands in a more steady position.

"Let's see about that, Mr. Potter," despite his words, Dubhán think he's forcing himself to lift his wand again. His mind is buzzing with alertness and caution. He can feel it zooming this way and that way, paranoid about the exterior force that it knows is about to penetrate it's defenses. "_Legilimenecy._"

He swallows hard. He has to over-come this. _Don't think. Don't feel. Just do what you have to do. _He tries to picture those soldiers inside his mind again, but instead he just finds himself, alone on a battlefield, facing Snape. They stare at each other, each on a hill, a valley below them. The fog is swirling and curling in the slow wind that brushes by Dubhán's face with a soft howl.

There is a boy between them now, rolling and tumbling and getting up quickly. Dubhán stares at the boy, about seven years old, and then at Snape. The boy doesn't seem to see them.

-_That's you,- _Severus says quietly, his voice eerie as it echoes in the mist, like a penseive memory. They shouldn't be able to hear each other from this far away, but Dubhán has the feeling that time and space don't play by normal rules, here.

-_Yes.-_ His voice almost sounds like a hiss here, and Snape's eyes rise sharply to look at him. Had he spoken parseltongue?

The boy jumps, tumbles in the air, and lands gracefully on his feet, then sidesteps something invisible.

-_Show me more?-_ Dubhán can sense that this isn't entirely a request. Already Snape is stepping forward, closer to him. He reaches his hand out, touching Dubhán's mist. The boy disappears. Now there is a cot, old, dirty and disused, between them. Dubhán knows he has to get Snape out _now_.

The panic inside of him swirls into an angry determination.

-_Leave, now- _Dubhán says coldly. Severus looks up. Dubhán feels his body stepping closer, towards Severus' side of the mist. It should take him longer to cross the valley, but he isn't really _stepping _he's _moving _towards the other. He reaches his own hand out, and when Severus doesn't do as he demanded, he plunges his hand into the fog and twists mercilessly.

There is a red-headed girl in the valley now, and a large tree, and a boy, dressed so oddly he could only be a Wizard trying to dress as a Muggle.

Dubhán looks up at Snape, then down into the valley, taking a step towards the memory playing itself out. If he gets closer, he might be able to hear.

He stands next to the girl, observing her. He felt certain now that Snape wasn't going to leave, but it was fine as long as Dubhán was in control of the show.

Snape is striding towards them. He stops before Dubhán and the boy and the girl and the tree. He has gone pale. Dubhán looks at the girl again. Who was this girl?

-_You look like her-_ Severus says, the words sneaking unbidden out of his mouth. Dubhán quirks an eyebrow at the comment, but then the valley is spinning around them and the stone walls of the castle are spinning into focus and there is Severus, the real one, standing before him.

"We're done for tonight," Severus says cooly. "We will resume this after the weekend. Mrs. Potter, you may owl me some good times for you and I will select one."

**OoOoO NEXT Lesson OoOoO**

Dubhán has barely turned his head around to face Snape when it happens. _"Legilimenecy"_.

He's on the ground, on his knees. Grass sways around him and there is Severus, on the other side of the valley, standing. The wind whips at his dark robes, makes his dark hair swirl around his face. He looks menacing.

-_Why bring me here again?_- Severus' voice floats across the valley, clearer than it should be.

Dubhán gets up onto his feet.

-_Is this something I am doing?_- He asks, his voice a hiss that somehow Severus understands here.

-_It is your place_,- Severus replies quietly, looking around with an air of confusion and bewilderment. Then suddenly those dark orbs search his green out again, a glint of clarity and certainty in them now; like a wolf that's caught the scent of a trail. -_You're trying to hide something from me, but you don't know how, so __**you're**__ hiding, instead_.-

Dubhán looks around with a new focus. His doing? But he'd never been anywhere like this. Where was this, anyways?

Severus is striding forwards, towards his side of the valley. He makes to touch some of Dubhán's 'mist' which they both know now are memories, and Dubhán panics.

Down below in the valley there is a boy now, and a monster.

Their voices seem to float up to the hill that Severus and he occupy, with unnatural clarity.

'I'm no one's,' the little boy is saying, an edge of defiance to his words; words the little boy had once heard his father whisper with the same edge to Dumbledore.

The monster spins around. 'What did you say?' His words are cutting, but the boy isn't cowering. Severus' regard stays on the two figures.

'I said I was no one's,' the boy says again. There is no fear in his body, but as Severus moves closer, he see's the fear in his eyes.

'That is a very dangerous thing to say, boy,' says the monster.

'If you don't know who I am, how can I be yours?' The boy asks, trying to look confident. The monster pauses and tips his head, like a great snake trying to decide weather to strike or not.

'I know perfectly well who you are,' the monster says finally.

'Then who am I?'

'You are _mine_, because I took you. Do I need to prove it to you?' The monsters wand is out before Severus can blink or expect such a move. The boy flinches, but remains where he is. Severus isn't sure he can watch, if the monster uses that wand.

-_Stop_- Severus spins around to face the real boy, or as real as either of them can be, here.

The misty figures turn to thunderclouds and there is a roar and a howl and they disappear in a flash of lightning. The wind is slapping against Severus's and Dubhán's faces in harsh gusts. The mist on Dubhán's 'side' turns a dark grey, compacts, and begins to rumble with a roar.

-_Leave, now!_- There is a glare there on that face now, an anger in those eyes, a coldness in the regard, that hadn't been there before. Severus hadn't thought he'd see it on that face.

It is like looking at Voldemort moments before he tortures someone he perceives to have over stepped their bounds. Severus has experience with this regard and keeps the gaze, even though his body wants nothing more than to turn away and retreat. The boy must make him.

-_Make me._- Those green eyes come to him, cold and intense, but not without feeling. And it is only because he won't let himself look away that he see's those eyes flicker and turn amber. A bolt of lightning strikes him, and he finds himself, breathless, in his office once more. He's still on his feet and so is the boy, his eyes closed, his hands as fists at his sides.

Severus' vials of potions, lining his back wall, are shaking, all to similar to the rumble of those thunderclouds.

Potter is standing now. His wand is out, pointed aimlessly in the air, waiting for something to happen.

"If you could control your mind as well as you do your magic, we'd be done here," Severus drawls, crossing his arms. Potter sends him a glare in defense of his child, although the child himself appears not to have heard the Potion Master's words.

Then his eyes open and it is only because Severus has been waiting, looking directly at his eyelids that he notices at all. They are amber. A second later, they are green again.

**ONTO THE CURRENT CHAPTER: **

He doesn't bother telling them he doesn't need the rancid tasting potion or the wards and locking charms all over every inch of his room. He doesn't tell them he'd rather be alone when they call Remus over for lunch. He doesn't tell Remus he's not so afraid of himself anymore, in this one way. He waits silently on his chair, his hands tucked under himself to hide that they aren't shaking. The only reason they should shake is because of the anticipation of pain, but Devlin is so numb these days he thinks he probably won't feel it.

"Are you okay, Devlin?" Remus asks, probably because Devlin is never this silent when they are stuck in a room alone.

"Yes," he replies, because he knows doing otherwise would raise alarms. He lifts his eyes, more amber than green now, to his teacher and friend and pack member. "I'm going to transform into my wolf. Its...less painful." He doesn't tell the truth, that he's transforming so Remus won't expect him to speak anymore, because Remus believes the lie. There is no flicker of envy or desire in Remus' eyes, because Remus doesn't have a jealous bone in his body and it always amazes Devlin to see the lack of the emotion when it would be most warranted.

Devlin doesn't try to cheer Remus up with puppy antics like he normally might, because he doesn't feel like he has it in him. He sits quietly watching the window, awaiting the pain and when it comes, as the moon slinks into view outside his window, he breathes with that agony and lets himself feel every bit. He lets the pain seep into his bones and blood and tissue and watches his body transform and Remus transform and unlike his pack member, he doesn't once open his muzzle to yowl in pain. He hadn't thought he would be able to feel this pain and it is exhilarating, after so much numbness, to feel _something_.

Since the potion makes the werewolves mental barriers crumble and allows Devlin to take over, their difficulties are reversed this time: now it is the werewolf struggling to regain access. It seems more persistant than normal and Devlin can hear the thoughts at the edges of his mind 'isn't it _our _turn again?'. Normally Devlin wouldn't have an inclination to allow it, because he had thought the wolf would overtake his senses if he invited it back in. Now he knows better.

He lets himself be swept under the pain and into his own mind, where he met with those hills. This is a distinct lack of mist, but Devlin supposes he has no memories to hide from himself. He looks around, because he hasn't been here for a long time.

There is a wolf on the other hill, where Severus always was. It is a werewolf. He feels no fear. _Wolves aren't afraid of themselves. _

"This is me, making us like this," he says, because he knows, without knowing how he knows, that in reality they are never this distinctly separate. He is not like other werewolves. As the world renowned Potion's Master Severus Snape would say: 'the wolf is boyish and the boy is wolfish'.

The werewolf tips his head and sits back on it's haunches, cautiously relaxed.

"What are we doing here?" The werewolf asks, speaking words Devlin knows aren't really possible for the wolf to make. They are in Devlin's mind though and so the other's feelings translate themselves, he supposes. He is, in all technicality, having a conversation with himself, after all.

"I don't know." It is the truth. He moves towards the animal, stretching his hand out to feel the fur beneath his fingers. It is softer than Devlin thought and he runs his hand along the length of the werewolf's back. The werewolf shudders and Devlin thinks there is an overwhelming pleasure, like most dogs, but also a forbiddances that fuels the involuntary feeling. Humans should not touch werewolves. He looks into the amber eyes and knows in here, his own eyes must be strikingly green.

"Remus needs us," the werewolf says and Devlin knows it is the truth. Together they spin out of the misty hills and back into reality. Remus is whimpering above his still body, worried for him. Devlin opens his eyes and peers up at the werewolf. He shakes himself, to show him that he is okay, and then they begin to play. There is something freeing to being so _whole_ again.

oOoOoOo

"I want you to be able to call me, whenever. I don't care if you wake me up in the middle of the night, Devlin."

Devlin fingers the mirror his father has just handed him, nodding to reassure his father that he has heard him.

"Promise you will call me, Devlin if _anything_ is worrying you."

He looks up at his father, into those emerald eyes that sometimes make Devlin freeze and stop breathing because of the curse that perfectly replicates their color.

"I won't promise that, Dad. I worry about lots of unimportant things."

His father sighs heavily.

"Devlin, _please_."

"I'll call you if I have a nightmare and I'll call you if something frightens me." His father nods, a resigned kind of nod, and reaches out to ruffle his hair.

"Thank you, Devlin." And together they walk through the wards around the property and disapparate to Hogsmeade.

OoOooOo

They arrive back at Hogwart's late on Sunday night and once more his father suggests to his Head of House that he could walk Devlin to the stone wall. Severus makes a sound of derision at the mere thought.

"Do you wish your child to be ridiculed, Potter?"

"What? No!" The look on his dad's face is priceless and Devlin bites hard on his tongue to stop from smirking.

"Then please leave, before any of his friends see his father here after dinner and especially before any of those said friends (or rivals), think perhaps Devlin had to be walked to his room by his _dad." _

Harry's eyes narrow, but he steps back. He supposes he wouldn't know what it was like to have a social situation compromised by _having_ a parent and so he shrugs and reaches for the floo powder when Devlin nods in that 'yeah dad' sort of way.

"I'll see you next month, Devlin."

"Alright, Dad." And he is gone, tumbling through the floo.

Snape looks him up and down.

"Do you need any potions?"

"Nah. Mum already made me take some stuff." His Head of House nods and together they walk to the Slytherin dorms.

OoOoOoO

"Where did you disappear to?" Malfoy has the stupidity to ask the next morning. Devlin snarls at him as he pulls his robes out of his trunk to bring into the bathroom. All the other boys, by this time in the year, have little qualms about changing in front of one another, but then again, they don't have the scars Devlin does. He'd realized the drastic difference the first week into school, when William, the only muggleborn among them, had proudly shown off _his_ scar that spanned all of two inches and was from falling out of a tree. Barret, Green, Calloway and Scorpius had been both in awe and disgusted.

He recalls that Calloway and Scorpius had immediately thought the boy should go see the nurse, certain he would want the disfigurement gone from his body. 'Muggle medicine,' the boys had said and Devlin had unwittingly reminded them that not all scars could be taken care of by magic, either. They had spun around to him.

'Only scars from dark magic,' Green had said, 'or, of course, creatures with magical poison that can't be extracted from the body and disrupts healing. Some snake bites, for instance, or werewolf bites.' He had said it so matter-of-factly that Devlin hadn't been able to be angry and had, instead, known then and there that the boy would make a wonderful study partner. He had also known he could never change in front of any of them.

"I went home. What's it to you, Malfoy?" Devlin says, his eyes alighting amber even though his wolf should be as far from influencing his behavior as possible, this soon after his transformation.

"It's just, you know, _curious - _why did your daddy want you home _this weekend?_" Devlin fights the urge to lunge at the boy, but violence doesn't seem to make any imprint into this boys brain, or he would have stopped bothering Devlin the last time.

"Perhaps you would like to speak to me privately about your curiosity into my coming and goings? You seem to have put an awful lot of attention into it, after all. I mean, I don't notice where you go all the time, but you sure seem to track me. Perhaps there is some reason you always seem to be watching me?"

The other boys lips turn down into a scowl. The taunt is there, hinted at but not thrown overtly around. He can't have been the first boy to call Scorpius gay, after all. The boy matches his scarves and his socks and while Devlin has no problem with matching scarves and socks or whoever the other boy might grow to want to snog, he has no problem using it against the boy either, especially not after he'd been willing to hint equally at him being a werewolf. It wasn't like they didn't know, but _still_. Perhaps, William didn't, if no one had told him. He looks at the muggleborn out of the corner of his eye and, indeed, the boy looks more than a little confused.

_It's not like they don't know. _

"Whatever, I was just asking, Potter."

Devlin spins around and throws his clothes on his bed. He can feel all of their eyes upon him. He pulls in a determined breath and takes off his PJ top, determinedly ignoring the gasps. _It's not like they don't know. _

Out in the hallway, William is waiting for him, leaning agains the opposite wall casually, his wand in his hand the only thing that belies the calm he is trying to portray. He comes to walk beside Devlin, even though Devlin hadn't invited him.

"I wanted to ask you about those scars," William says, and that annoying drawl has entirely disappeared from his voice. Devlin turns to see the concern in the boys eyes and frowns.

"Yes, well, are you going to actually _ask_ anything?" Devlin finally says and now he is the one with an exacerbated drawl. They are drawing closer to the main hallways and to class.

"Someone put them there, on your back."

"Yes." He doesn't feel the need to lie about that, it is plainly obvious.

"Someone you know?"

He turns his head slightly, but nods.

"You shouldn't let people hurt you like that, Devlin. You should tell a teacher."

Devlin frowns, his brow furrowing and it takes him a moment for him to realize the obvious: he's peaking to the only _muggleborn_ in his dorm.

"The Dark Lord did it to me, William," he begins tensely, trying to keep his temper under control because this boy isn't being cruel or rude - he is simply mistaken. "It was a punishment."

Fisher has gone pale beside him. Devlin quicks his steps and manages to reach Charms class before Fisher and grab a seat towards the back, surrounded by Slytherin's. Maria looks back at him from her seat in the middle of the room, but Devlin pointedly ignores her.

OoOoOoO

"Devlin Augustus Potter!" She shouts across the Great Hall, so that he has no choice but to turn. Dumbledore and Professor Granger are looking at him quizzically. He allows Maria to approach him. She is wearing her school robes with a vibrant scarf thrown over her shoulders. Her red hair shimmers under the brilliant sun that the ceiling is mimicking, and her eyes are as intense as ever. Her mouth is drawn into a thin line. She stomps over, shoulders slightly hunched, hands curled into fists at her sides.

"Yes?" He asks politely.

"If you don't start talking to me," she threatens, clenching her hands tighter and leaning closer to him. Her voice drops. "If you don't stop ignoring me, I will march right up to the Headmaster's office and tell who we met in Hogsmeade!"

He frowns. Perhaps Gryffensdorism wasn't wearing off on her too well, after all. This was rather Slytherin in nature.

But he can't be near her anymore. Something is wrong with him. He is afraid he might hurt her. He'd done it to those men. Done it to the werewolf in the woods. Done it to that boy, even though he admits it had been a bit different that time. Those eyes still haunt him. He doesn't think they'll ever stop.

"One would wonder why you hadn't beforehand," he says, suggesting she will get in trouble.

Her lips purse, her fists unclench, then she tilts her head and smiles.

"I believed you before because I thought it would be worse for you, if they knew, but don't think you can manipulate me, Devlin," she says softly. "We're friends!"

"No, we're not. You should stay away from me." He blinks, the image of uncaring. He tries hard not to flinch under those blue eyes.

"Stay away from you? Do you think I'm afraid or something?"

"You should be," he says, not at all unkindly. "If you tell, that's fine. I can escape my father's wards too. Maybe I should just run away from _everyone_." He turns on his heels and walks away.

Behind her, Maria's hands are unclenching, her shoulders sagging further, and her pursed lips turning into a worried frown.

"Hey," Professor Granger asks, coming up behind her and putting a hand on her shoulder. "Is everything okay?"

"No," she says. She thinks of telling her, but in reality she knows that the last thing Devlin needs is more betrayal. She walks away without another word, racing after Devlin.

She catches up to him right outside of Charm's class.

"What is wrong with you?" She asks, grabbing his wrist and holding him back. All the other students filter into the classroom. The last boy, a fellow Gryffindor, holds the door open, looking questioningly at her. She knows she'll make them both tardy.

"I'm not good for you," he says softly and Maria see's the fear cross his face.

"Not good for me? You don't get to decide that. I have lots of friends who think you're no good for me," she see's surprise and affirmation flickr across his eyes, "but I get to pick my own friends. It's my choice!"

"You don't understand," he whispers, trying to wrench his arm free. Maria knows he's much stronger than her, so she knows he's not trying _that _hard. "I'm no good for you _anymore." _

Her eyes narrow just a bit, one more than the other, and it is the look she always has right before she reaches a conclusion. Father always says she reminds him a bit of Hermione.

"He made you do things...things like they were going to do to me..."

Devlin looks away. He tries to shake away the screams, the pleas, the fear. Yes, they would have done that all to her. He is no better then those men that had grabbed her and dragged her through the compound. No better than the men he had pictured in order to kill. No better than the men he had wanted to fall down and never get up.

He wrenches his hand away from her desperately and dashes away, not into class, but away. His feet carry him faster and faster, until all he can hear is the rush of his own heart and the clap of his feet against the stone floors. His skin crawls with something ugly as the realization sinks into him like hot coals in his belly.

And then he is there, in front of the door the first years fear and the older students shy away from. He throws himself against it, knocking desperately. He bangs and bangs and it only when he feels hands pulling him away from the door that he realizes the room has been _empty_.

"Stop that," says the man with the unfathomable black eyes that can still gain access to Devlin's mind. Who is just like him. Who has killed and tortured and still found someway to live and not be _him_. Devlin falls still in those arms. "What is _wrong_, child?"

"I am no good," he says desperately. He reaches for his face, but there are no tears there. He cannot cry. Does not feel what others feel. All the feeling is gone from him, except fear.

The dark eyed man frowns deeply, then opens his door and drags Devlin inside.

"What do you mean, child?" He asks softly, regarding the boy whose back has not left his wall, who is standing before him calmly, even though his scraped hands suggest an entirely different thing happening inside of himself.

"She _knows_. I didn't want her to know. Anyone but her."

"Who?" His mother? His sister?

"Maria," he says, as if the floor is falling out from under his feet. "She knows. She knows what I did. Knows I'm no better than the men who would have hurt _her_." He looks sick. After speaking the words out loud, his face goes from pale to green.

"You mean, Ms. Watson's kidnapping?" It was not as well known as Devlin Potter's, since it had been so brief. The child, he recalls, had found some way to escape. The teachers had been told briefly of the child's history, as they were of all abuse and trauma cases that they were aware of in advance. "Do you really think Ms. Watson could ever think of you as one of those men?"

"I did it. I did it all. I didn't feel anything. I'd do it again!"

Snape frowns.

"Didn't feel anything, you say?" It was clear to Severus that the boy was a natural at Occlumency, which meant he had to instinctively separate himself from his emotions. It was clear he found it easy to dissociate, whether consciously or subconsciously. The boy was built for it, being bitten hadn't helped, being tortured and damaged (although in what exact ways Severus still wasn't sure), only furthered the issue. Yet, Severus had never thought of the boy as unfeeling.

He observed the boy now. He had never known Tom Riddle as a child and Albus did not find it very pertinent to fill his once-spy with memories that shouldn't be there. He tried to think if Tom Riddle would have acted like Devlin was now. Was this the next Dark Lord standing in front of him? If it was...

But no, this couldn't be. Devlin wasn't unfeeling. Devlin, who protected so fiercely his sister. Devlin whose wolf protected _him. _Devlin who was so worried about someone thinking he was like Voldemort.

Why had the boy not run to Granger? Surely the boy knew one tear, one sniffle, one pout, and Granger would put him through the floo to be comforted and coddled. So maybe that wasn't what he wanted. Maybe he wanted the truth.

"Perhaps we should speak to the Headmaster," he says softly, gently. Potter would have been glad as a boy to be dragged before the Headmaster in this instance. It was clear the boy needed comforting and Severus was the last Professor capable of what he needed.

"No!" And there it is again, such fear in those eyes. Such worry. Yet there is no hatred. No anger. No rage. Snape is thankful that the boy's eyes aren't as bright as Lily's, but his heart aches at the eyes nonetheless. The color may be different, but the pattern, the movement, the eyelashes, they are all Lily. That desperate crinkle of his forehead sends a stab to Snape's heart.

"Why not, Mr. Potter?" Severus asks, feeling quite over his head. Albus would be able to tell the boy if his fears were right. Only Albus would know...

"I already look like him," he says, very softly, "_so very much_ like him."

Severus looks the boy over again, so this is what Voldemort had looked like as a child? He must have been a charming child, then. Devlin didn't yet know what handsome meant, but he would know in a year or two. Devlin wasn't the child to open his eyes wide and pout, but every long lash and every perfect hair and everything about his lips, spoke of how easy it would be for him.

"Albus could tell you," Snape says softly. "He is the only person alive who could tell you if you are acting like Voldemort."

"He did it all so I'd be like him, did you know?" Severus had no idea, so he just let the boy speak. "He decided not to kill me, not because I was a child, not because I was afraid, but because of how I looked."

Severus stands very still, watching the magic pulsate around this child.

"He wanted to know what he would have been like, if he hadn't been raised by filthy muggles," there is no emotion behind the phrase and Severus wonders how many times he's heard those two words put together. Does he believe it? "But he didn't think ahead. He missed something."

The child stands silent before him.

"What did he miss, Devlin?" Severus asks softly.

"He missed that, just as he suspected, he would have been more powerful - more powerful well-fed, more powerful guided, more powerful allowed to explore magic. He knew it, but he never truly believed it, until I escaped. I'm going to be even more powerful than him and he knows."

Those green eyes look up at him again.

"Dad's magic doesn't work like his or mine. So I must be more like him and less like Dad."

He steps forward and grabs the boy's hand. Right before he opens his office door and drags the boy through, he see's the fear again, and whispers: "I'll protect you, I promise."

He drags him through the hallways, despite his protests. Classes are letting out and he appears for everyone the disobedient child being brought before the Headmaster. There are looks of disbelief on his Slytherin's faces. Some of the older ones look almost ready to come to the boy's rescue, and he's almost begging them too, protesting and demanding he didn't do anything. Severus isn't Head of Slytherin for nothing and he knows that Voldemort must not have 'given up' on the boy like Albus thinks, for his Snakes to be eyeing the boy this way.

Finally, he is before the Headmaster's door and it lets him through, which means the Headmaster is alone.

"Severus!" Albus greets kindly, then he see's the boy and his face falls a little. Severus see's what the boy means.

"He thinks," Severus says, "that he is just like Voldemort. I told him you were the one person who could tell him if he is, indeed, just like Voldemort at eleven."

The twinkles in the old man's eyes disappear, a sign Severus has never known to be good. He eyes Devlin, blue eyes filled with sadness.

"Why would you think that, Mr. Potter?"

The child had gone quite limp after he'd realized he wasn't escaping the office, but now he turns around quite sharply and his eyes are ablaze with something that, just this once, Severus can connect to Voldemort: Power.

"I killed," he says, not softly, not timidly, not with fear in his eyes. His eyes are sharp and clear and determined as they regard Dumbledore. "I didn't feel _anything_."

"Voldemort is not the monster he is merely because he killed," Dumbledore whispered softly. "And Voldemort had a choice each time - a full choice."

"I made them scream, too." There is no emotion in this boys voice. This is not the boy from his office.

"Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, Headmaster?"

"Right now, you are doing a very good job of _acting_ like Tom," the boy cringes at the name, "but I can tell it is an act."

"Maybe the other is an act, Professor."

For one flickering moment, Severus wonders the same.

"Kill me," the boy says softly, looking at the Headmaster. Still, those eyes are devoid of emotion. He is standing up straight. If he hadn't said those words, he might have been speaking to the Headmaster about his classes.

"Why?"

"Wouldn't you have killed him, if you'd known?"

"Known what, Mr. Potter?"

"Known what he'd become?"

"I cannot answer that question, Mr. Potter, because I did not know."

"Well think about it, because you have this one chance. You know this time."

Dumbledore regards him for a long time. The boy stands still in front of him, as if inviting the killing curse. Severus is almost ready to stand between them.

All at once, the door slams open and there is Potter on the other side of it, anger filling his eyes.

"Get out, Devlin," he growls, glaring at Snape. "Go wait outside."

But Devlin doesn't move and his eyes don't leave Dumbledore's.

"Just this once, Professor." He whispers desperately. "Just this once to stop it all over again."

Potter lunges forward and grabs the boy.

"Maria told me what she said," Potter says, loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear. "Told me she figured out that he made you do what they would have done to her. That doesn't make you like those men, Devlin."

Clarity seeps into the Headmaster's blue eyes, mixing with the sadness. But there is another emotion there: uncertainty. It does not look quite right in the Headmaster's eyes, Severus thinks.

"I thought of them, every time he told me to kill - because you have to _want_ them to die and those are the only people I wanted dead..." He struggles against Potter's grasp. "Now that's me. I killed that boy! I killed those men! I killed even when I didn't _have_ too. I am just like the men _I_ wanted dead."

Potter doesn't know what to say. Severus feels his soul ache for the boy. When the boy is in pain he hides it. Just like Lily had always tried to do with her worry.

"Tom Riddle would have never felt that way," Albus says softly. "It would not have occurred to him to care about what someone else thought, unless their opinion furthered his plan."

Devlin pulls free of his father's grasp and puts both his hands on the Headmaster's desk, leaning forward on the piece of furniture with a glint of desperation in his eyes.

"I think that way too," he says softly, "but never about Maria."

There is a small knowing smile tipping the Headmaster's lips upward.

"Tom Riddle would have never rescued a child, just to help," he says softly and his smile grows at the boys shock that he knows. Severus is frowning at the new information. "She told me herself, Mr. Potter, just days ago. She spoke about you ignoring her and 'rebelling' and wished for me to know what you had done. You have made a very good friend in her, Mr. Potter."

Devlin's brow twitches, like he wants to frown but can't allow himself.

"Well, you had your one chance, Headmaster," and he turns around quickly and exits the room. Potter stares after him, then his head whips back to the two adults, who both know they're about to see the side of Potter that his son never has.

oOoOoOo

**Alright, this chapter seriously deserves some reviews. It is just EPIC in size. I just kept adding to it! I could have made it two chapters, but I didn't, so REVIEW!**

***sticks her tongue out at them* Do it now or I'll blow a raspberry at you!**

**Yes, I am giddy with lack of sleep! Do not argue with a temporarily half-insane girl!**

**UPCOMING: **

"Well, go on, you know what to do," Gregory whispers by his ear, pushing him forward. Devlin nods, stepping onto one end of the long dueling mat. The other boy does the same and slowly they walk towards each other, with an air of purposefulness.

When they both reach the center, they shake hands.

"Devlin Augustus Potter," Devlin says firmly but politely.

"Samual Henry Bowman," the other boys says, just as firmly and politely, and Devlin all at once feels his blood run cold.


	12. The Dueling Club

"You alright, mate?" Zale asks, waiting suspiciously close to the Headmaster's door.

"Do you really think Dumbledore would hurt Potter's son? What a way to lose his only useful weapon," he sneers as the sixth year takes a place next to him as he walks.

"You looked awful worried being dragged there."

Devlin turns to him carefully.

"Only so one of you would warn someone. Who did, anyways?"

"Donno," the older boy says. "Wasn't sure I should have been relieved to see Potter there or not. Why'd you get in trouble?"

"I skipped class. There was something I had to do."

"What did you have to do?"

Devlin eyes him again and the boy shakes his head, canceling the question between them. Being Voldemort's heir has its advantages and Devlin is well aware of each and every one of them.

"Snape doesn't usually makes us go to Dumbledore," the Slytherin mulls out, clearly still confused.

"I think I might frighten him a bit..." Devlin gives his most charming smile and the Slytherin beside him shivers before he tentatively returns the expression.

"You're an odd one, I'll give you that, Mr. Potter."

They part ways soon after that, the sixth year, Zale, off to Defense and Devlin off to History.

Outside the classroom door, Malfoy is leaning up against the wall, a worried look playing across his face. Devlin glares at him.

"Did he come?" The boy asks. His hair is parted instead of slicked back. He looks flushed and disheveled and Devlin's eyes narrow not in conclusion but at the elusion of just that - something is _off _about the boys parted hair. "Did Potter come?" He clarifies and now Devlin is even more confused.

"Why would you care?" He asks, making his voice harsh.

"I wasn't sure Professor Granger would tell him..." he says softly. This was the boy that had rescued him? This was the boy who had braved facing his father, knowing who is own father is?

"She did." And Devlin allows Malfoy to sit next to him in class, and finds out he's not _too_ bad, but he's still thankful to be rid of him when class is over. He talks to much about too little.

OoOooOoO

"Hey Potter, wait up a minute!" Devlin pauses, turning his neck to see the approaching Gryffindor. For a moment he can't recall the older student, but then he realizes it is Dagerdy, so he pauses.

"Yes?" He asks, when the boy is closer.

"I know you missed the beginning of the year, but we - The Dueling Club - would still like to have you. We meet tonight. I'd love to bring you with us and introduce you. Think you can make it?"

"My mum and dad haven't signed your papers."

"Oh, no worry. I caught him coming out of Professor Ginny's office yesterday and asked him. He owled the paper to me."

"Oh."

"But he did say, of course, that it was up to you."

Devlin fingers his wand, feeling it warm beneath his hand. It is keen on the idea.

_Just do it, Devlin. It will be a good way to blow off some steam._

"Yeah, alright. Where do you want me to meet you?"

The older boy grins.

"On the second floor, right in front of the stairs."

Devlin nods, and they go about their own business. Devlin heads to Defense class.

OoOoOoO

In the evening hours, while older students sneak up to the towers and younger students play games in the common rooms, the hallways have an eerie calm about them. Devlin finds himself fingering his wand. The calm is almost like torture. When he is settling in for bed, he can at least think back on the days events, like lectures or interactions or even the wording someone had chosen, but here in the hallway he can't let himself do that, and it means that his mind is left open to more idle thoughts.

'_I want you to make him scream.' _

Devlin shakes himself, but the image of the man withering on the floor stays stubbornly there.

"Hey!" Dagardy calls across the hallway, walking quickly towards him.

"Hello," he says softly, the man on the floor still in the back of his mind. He puts his wand away deliberately.

"It's this way," Gregory says, smiling. He can't see the man on the floor that is ghosting across Devlin's mind. He leads him to a rather plain room, an old unused classroom. It is especially long, leading Devlin to believe someone might have magicked two classrooms to become one. In the middle is a long skinny mat and off to the sides are chairs.

A hush overcomes the room as Gregory leads him in. There are students from all the houses and most of them are looking at him as if he were a small worthless bug, only interesting because it had made it into the room at all, but the Slytherin's have a different look upon their faces. Weariness.

Devlin makes sure he is standing up straight. Makes sure he looks confident. The students are all are seated. Still, all the eyes are on him.

"Tell me that isn't a firstie!" One of them shouts across the room. A Gryffindor.

"Aye, it is!" Gregory shouts back to his fellow housemate, grinning. "I wanted to surprise you guys!"

There is a collective groan from some students.

"No one will duel him, Dagerdy; the nurse will have our head if we injure a firstie,"says another, but this time it is a Hufflepuff.

"Well, lets put it _this_ way. I _dare_ one of you to be brave enough to take him on." There are some derisive snorts, some sighs of annoyance, and some cruel smiles.

"I say we give the firstie to the newbie!" Shouts a Ravenclaw. She looks to be a fourth or fifth year.

"Yeah!" Several people shout in agreement.

"Sounds fair enough," Gregory agrees, his hand still on Devlin's shoulder.

A boy, probably just a third year, steps forward out of the seated crowd. He has light brown hair that catches the flickering magic lights. His face is chubbier than Devlin's - he looks very much an older second year, even though he must be a third year. He is just a bit taller than Devlin. He knows this boy from somewhere.

"Well, go on, you know what to do," Gregory whispers by his ear, pushing him forward. Devlin nods, stepping onto one end of the long mat. The other boy does the same and slowly they walk towards each other, with an air of purposefulness.

When they both reach the center, they shake hands.

"Devlin Augustus Potter," Devlin says firmly but politely.

"Samual Henry Bowman," the other boys says, just as firmly and politely, and Devlin all at once feels his blood run cold. There is a glint in the boy's eyes and Devlin knows he must, on some level, know what Devlin had done to him. They release hands, bring their wand up, step back, bring them down, and continue back to opposite ends of the mat.

Distantly he hears Gregory putting up protection spells for the crowd, the crowd taking bets. But it all sounds like it is coming through a tunnel. He feels that odd sensation again, like everything is going limp, but his hand is still held at the dueling angle, his wand still pointed, his feet still ready.

He had hurt this boy and he can see in the boys eyes that he wants to hurt _him. _Devlin breathes, trying to calm his rapid heart beat. Gregory is cheering them both on, shouting "show us what you can do, boys!" and it makes Devlin look up for a just a moment. _Eyes_. There are so many eyes on him, ready to measure him, assess him, _judge_ him. Ready to declare him strong or weak, depending on if he wins.

He'll let the boy down easy. He'll draw it out a bit, he tells himself as he readies for attack. He can do this.

"Deffindo," Bowman shouts across at him, whipping his hand through the air.

"Protego!" Devlin shouts, holding his wand in front of him.

"Stupify!" Devlin could block the charm again. The first cutting spell hadn't been that strong, but he also knows all Protego's make for a poor show. Deftly, with the air of practice, he puts his wand between his teeth and throws his body into the air, his body arching right above the spot where the spell is headed. He lands on his hands and then into the air again as another stunner comes his way. Now he lands on his feet, facing the boy. He lets his wand drop, grabbing for it as it falls towards his feet.

He growls lowly. He feels his heart pound and his blood race and his muscles flex in preparation. Oh how he loves a good duel - but he'll settle for this too. The boy looks mildly afraid now, but Devlin knows he hasn't done much magic. Surely there must be muggle born children that can throw themselves into the air and land on their feet - Grandfather had said as much about his showmanship _tricks_.

Devlin throws a tripping hex his way and the boy tries to block, but falls halfway forward anyways. He jumps up, wand at the ready, and walks forward. The boy is just pulling himself up, when he surprises Devlin and discretely shoots another cutting charm. It lands on his arm and Devlin feels the blood immediately. He looks briefly to the wound and growls. So that's how they were playing? He'd been treating the child as a child - following the rules outlined for learning dueling. Wait for you opponent to be on their feet. Anything else was cheating, in this sort of environment. Or so he thought.

Gregory begins to rush forward, but Devlin already has his wand up again. His eyes flash amber. He stops feeling worried about who the boy is. He stops feeling nervous about the crowd. His body hums with his magic. The smell of his own blood, soaking into his shirt, makes everything seems especially clear and sharp.

He cuts his wand through the air and sends a bolt of red light towards the boy. It makes the boy's last minute shield crackle and almost break. He does it again and this time, it breaks through and he watches the boy fall down.

"Expelliarmus," the boy shouts, half out of breath and on his knees. Devlin hadn't thought he'd be able to, and his wand twitches in his hand, but remains with him.

"Deffindo!"

He growls. Is that worst spell this boy knew? Before the Deffindo can even reach him, the boy is sending another stunner.

He slashes his wand through the air and a shield erects itself, and then he whispers "Expecto Patronum", and the great silver wolf leaps from his wand and races towards the boy, who cowers away. The wolf stops right before him, growling and baring it's teeth. The boy shouts off a hex and Devlin watches, knowing what _should _happen, but nonetheless amazed by his continual modification of the spell. The wolf leaps into the air, towards the boy, and swallows the hex whole. It burns yellow in his belly. Devlin saunters over to the boy, a hard look in his dark green eyes.

"Wingarium Leviosa!" Devlin shouts and the Bowman boy is in the air. He swings his wand and the boy crashes into the shield charm, hard. He looks up from his slumped position, quite out of breath. Devlin stays very still.

"He's left the mat," Devlin says caustically, looking at the boy. Was that all he had in him? Was that the worst he could do?

"Devlin Augustus Potter, you are the winner." Announces Gregory, a little stunned. Devlin knows it hadn't been that amazing of a duel and the only reason they are looking at him that way is because he is eleven. Well, perhaps the now-fading wolf had something to do with it, too. No one is watching him like a worthless beetle anymore. He pockets his wand and waits at the other end of the mat. If they _do_ actually follow proper protocol, he's still in the game.

"Well, whose's next?" He asks, when the hush remains. A fellow Slytherin leads the Bowman boy to the hospital wing.

"I will," a lanky boy says, standing a good head taller than him. He has a Gryffindor patch on his school robe, which he takes off for the duel. He has a hard face and steady hands, and Devlin finds himself grinning. Maybe this will be more fun. "But only if we get rid of the mat."

Devlin considers, but in the end, he really hates the mat himself.

"Duel until one or the other is disarmed?" Devlin asks.

"Yes."

Devlin nods. "I accept," Devlin says, then he turns to Gregory. "What rules do you play by?"

"Proper school rules," Gregory says, "Bowman broke them by shooting while he was down. But we also play other ways, for different competitions."

"So school rules today?" Devlin asks, to clarify. It wouldn't be any good to lose on account of a misunderstanding. Gregory nods and Devlin faces the older boy again.

Gregory spells the mat to turn into a large rug, which covers the whole field except for a foot on each side. Devlin assumes this is to maintain the no-zone, however small.

They meet in the center.

"Blair Vance," the boy introduces.

"Devlin Potter," he says, leaving his middle name out as well.

They circle each other, their gazes are intense and their movements are steady.

"So what year are you, Blair?"

"Oh, I'm a fifth year, Devlin," the other boy says, kindly. "Now stop talking and get to dueling."

"Expelliarmus!" Devlin says, but the boy blocks it. "We're not allowed to talk? Do you think you're going to need -" he dodges a stunner as it comes his way "all your attention to best a firstie?"

There is a grin on the older boys face. He lifts his wand and sends a stinging hex his way. Devlin tucks and rolls beneath the spell, coming to his feet in one fluid movement.

"Someone taught you how to move, I'll give you that," the older boy says, with a chuckle underlying his words, "but that doesn't mean they taught you how to duel. Where are the spells, huh?"

"I taught myself how to move," Devlin says, grinning as he dodges again.

Vance sends a barrage of small exploding spells his way. Devlin eyes them, like small tennis balls coming his way, and lifts his wand, throwing his energy into his wand and out again. He flings Vance's own spells back at him. The boy blocks them easily, of course. It is, after all, his _own_ magic.

"Did you teach yourself magic, as well?" Vance asks.

"Oh, no," he says slyly. "Someone _else_ taught me that. You wanna see some?" He asks. He feels his blood flowing again, his muscles flexing, his body humming with magic.

"Yeah, I want a duel."

"Alright," he says.

He throws a stunner, than a stinging hex, then a burning jinx. His magic is prickling. He's moving steadily towards the boy. Vance manages to block everything but his burning spell and his wand hand bubbles up with tiny burns. Devlin smirks. He has to admire that the boy hasn't dropped the wand.

"Expelliarmus!" The boy shouts, but Devlin's magic is alive beneath his skin, and his wand doesn't even flinch.

"Expecto Patronum!" And there is his wolf again, prowling. It looks back at him and it's head tips ever so slightly to the right. Devlin grins, showing his teeth. The wolf turns around to the boy again.

"That's an interesting wolf," Vance says.

"I rather like him, myself."

There are whispers in the crowd and Devlin hears someone say "that's no wolf...", but he keeps his gaze on the opponent.

"Your own spell variation?"

"Yes."

The boy sends a hex and the wolf stands its ground, right in front of Devlin. The wolf is like a shield and it is a spectacular sight when the blue of the spell is consumed by the silver of his wolf. The boy is awed and Devlin takes advantage of the feeling.

"Expelliarmus," Devlin drawls, and the boys wand comes to him without a seconds hesitation. He twirls it in his hand as he walks slowly to the boy, whose friends have come through the shield charms to help up. He hands the wand back.

"Good duel," he says, even though he isn't that sincere.

There is clapping all around and Gregory comes up to him to inform him that they'll be switching to teaching some dueling spells, now. He nods and starts to walk towards a seat to be paired up.

"Can I sit with you?" Someone asks and Devlin nod without even looking up. "You did awesome, Devlin." He spins around in his chair, a frown already on his face, and comes to face face with those green eyes.

"What are you doing here, Dad?"

"Devlin, you know why I am here. You saw me yourself in the Headmaster's office."

"Why are you _still_ here. It's past dinner time!"

He shrugs.

"I tried to catch you at free period, but you're very sneaky and I lost you in the crowd on your way out of Defense class. So then I visited Ginny and Remus and even went to speak to Severus."

"Why are you _here?"_

"Because I didn't think you'd appreciate me walking into your Common Room."

"You can't, you don't know the password."

His father winked at him, a rare smirk gracing his lips.

"Oh, I can _always_ get into Slytherin. All I have to do is ask the little snake who guards the wall."

Devlin blanches. He hadn't thought of that.

"What do you want?" He may as well deal with him here - he doesn't want him coming to his Common Room.

"I want to watch you and then I want to talk to you in a bit more of a _discrete_ place."

"Fine," he says sharply, turning back around. A couple minute later Gregory calls his name to pair him with a third year and together they practice moving large stones in front of them as shields. They are marble Devlin notes and he knows it is one of the few stones that works well to block the killing curse.

**I THINK I am happy with this chapter. I'm sorta nervous with it, though, because I wanted there to be some 'in between the lines' sorta hints for a plot. I may have to come back and edit later if I find I missed placing an idea. **

**Anyways, PLEASE REVIEW! Bixy you are amazing. Everyone else, you get a raspberry because I know you READ the last chapter (you know, the awesomely long one that could have been two chapters with a cliff hanger somewhere...) but you didn't REVIEW. **

***Raspberry* *Raspberry* *Raspberry* *Raspberry* *Raspberry* *Raspberry* *Raspberry* *Raspberry* *Raspberry* **

**There, had enough? Good - review! :) **

**You could even make it easy - just tell me a favorite or least favorite part/quote! Copy and past, with a :D or a :( Easy peasy! **

** :D**

**UPCOMING: **

"Devlin didn't it hurt? Wasn't there blood? You were frightened - it's okay to feel frightened when someone _breaks your nose_."

Devlin blinks calmly.

"I wasn't."


	13. What's Different

**You will note the first part of this chapter is written in past tense - I decided to give it a try after a couple people said they'd like to see me try. It honestly felt kinda forced, although I can see some benefits to the flow. I think it would take me twice as long to write a chapter, because I just seem to connect better to Devlin in present tense. **

**OoOoOoOoO**

"I want to show you a special room," his father said, his voice so soft that Devlin knew he was nervous. He was so nervous, Devlin thought, that he'd gotten them completely lost. That, or he'd suddenly switched to pacing. Devlin was just about open his mouth and ask if he knew where he was going, when suddenly a door appears.

"This is the Room of Requirements. It transforms into what you most need," he said, as he opened the door and led Devlin inside. Devlin stopped short. It is his living room, except there are no windows or bookshelves. The chairs and sofas are perfect replicas.

"I assume you wanted to be home, then?"

"I thought it would makes us both a little more relaxed."

If Devlin was honest with himself, it was more creepy than comforting, to him. It may look like home, but it smelled like Hogwarts. His father moved around him to take a seat.

"What did you want to talk to me about, Dad?"

Harry fell into his favorite chair, peering up to look at Devlin with worried eyes. Devlin looked away. He has never liked to see the worry others have for him. Just like his father, Harry mused. But there are many ways that they are not alike, Harry knew.

"I want to talk to you about the war, Devlin."

"Does mum know you want to talk to me about the war?" A look of accusation settled on his face and Harry almost felt like rolling his eyes in exasperation. It wasn't like Devlin didn't try to wheedle information out of them when they _didn't_ want to speak about it (more Alexandra than Harry, who found it hard to keep his children out of loop like he had been kept as a child). It would be him who had the child that memorized every single rule or limit that his parents set down (not that he followed them)!

"No. I didn't come to Hogwarts to have this conversation - I stumbled upon its need."

Devlin sat down, his back straight, his eyes narrowed, and Harry can practically see his mind abuzz with what, exactly, his father might want to discuss.

He wants to tell his son he is nothing like Voldemort, but he knows he would be lying.

"Voldemort and I were both orphans," Harry began carefully. This hadn't been what Devlin thought they were going to discuss, he can tell. "We both found out before Hogwart's that we could speak to snakes and neither of us knew what our talent meant to the world we had yet to enter."

Those dark green eyes are peering at him intently with a spark of hunger and calculation that Harry will _always_ associate with his son's grandfather.

"We never knew much about our parents. We were both condemned for our magic as children. I like to think I chose to use my magic in a more responsible way than Voldemort, but having you as a son has made me have to reconsider. My magic protected me by removing me from bad situations and by fixing things that were done to me. Sometimes I dreamed of being bigger and stronger and physically _stopping_ Dudley from hurting me, but my magic never hurt anyone else. It never made me better when it fixed me, just the same. Just Harry."

Devlin was frowning, that same intense gaze still upon him.

"You and I, we're different that way, Devlin. Once, when you were only two, Author Weasley brought over a muggle toy robot. He made it walk over to you and you just stood there, your little chest heaving up and down. You didn't cry. I think you knew you didn't need to cry for our help. "Bad," you said to the robot and it exploded. There was another time, when you were three, but before you were bitten, that we took you into Diagon Alley and some poor lady went to grab you to say hello. We'd known her, of course, but you hadn't. She was flung backwards."

"What is your point? And who is Dudley?"

"Dudley is my cousin. My point? Dumbledore always told me Tom Riddle wasn't born evil and I never believed him. How could someone hurt other children if they were a normal child? How could they _know_ they could hurt them, unless they'd meaningfully tried? Then I had you and I realized it was entirely possible. Tom might have been scared and instead of his magic whisking him away, it had exploded out of him and hurt whatever was scaring him. It may never have occurred to him to use his magic differently and even if it had, there is a possibility that his magic _didn't work that way_. My magic was more internal and I rarely got it to do anything externally - perhaps Tom was the opposite."

"So you're saying I am like Voldemort."

"Yes."

"I already knew that." There was a coldness to his son's voice that made Harry want to wrap him in his arms.

"It doesn't mean there is anything wrong with you." His face was blank, telling Harry nothing; he hopes desperately that his son believes him.

"Do you feel bad about killing people?"

Harry swallowed. He had known this question might come up, but he would be fooling himself if he hadn't been praying it wouldn't.

"Not always."

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes I don't feel anything at all," there is a tiny widening of Devlin's eyes and Harry ploughs on, knowing he is going in the right direction. "Most of the time I just feel hate."

A flicker of a furrow in his brow and then it is gone. Harry took a breath.

"I hate them for what they have done. I hate them for the choices they have made. I hate Death Eaters more than I hate Voldemort." He has never told anyone that before. His blood pounded in his ears and his tongue went numb, words slipping past his teeth that he thought he later might regret. "But do you know what I hate the most?"

"No."

"Fear. I hate seeing it in their eyes, in their bodies, in every line on their face. It makes me so _angry _when I see that fear, because I know I need to see it, but I don't want to. Like a foul draught that you _must_ take but you resist as long as possible. It makes me realize that they are human too - that all human's make mistakes. You can't hate a human as much as you hate a monster."

Devlin was frowning, his body leaned back away from him. Harry paused for a moment, feeling the full weight of those words hit him. There was uncertainty in his son's eyes and Harry mentally kicks himself. He hadn't meant to say those things. _Better end this before I mess up even more,_ Harry thought.

"I don't want you to think the worst of yourself, Devlin. I don't want you to think that just because you are related to Voldemort, you have to be just like him. It is not what makes us the same that is important. It is what makes us different."

"I know I'm not him."

"Good." Harry hoped his voice didn't sound as shaky as it felt to him. He stands up. "I have something for you."

He pulled out the folded parchment from his robe and hands it to the now standing Devlin.

"It was my Dad's. You have to promise me you'll keep it safe and won't let any friends borrow it." Devlin frowned, but still didn't know what it was, and Harry suspects he thinks it is something rather dull. He nods.

"Alright, I promise." He takes the parchment. "What exactly _is_ it?"

"Tap it with your wand and say: I solemnly swear I am up to no good." Harry watched the awe spread across Devlin's face. He laid it flat on the coffee table, looking at all the dots.

"It's a map!"

"Yes."

"Your dad made it?"

"With Remus and Sirius, yes."

"How...how do I make it blank again?"

"You tap it and say: Mischief Managed." Devlin chuckled a bit and watched as the parchment cleared itself. Harry is well aware that there is nothing that lights up Devlin's face quite like a curious bit of magic that he hasn't yet mastered. Harry wondered what was like to be in that head of his - to be able to look at magic and innately know how it must be put together and how to tug and twist little components to change it to your wants.

"That's some really complex magic." He looks up, his green eyes alight with curiosity and hunger and for a moment Harry thinks his son looks like his father must with the Snitch right out of reach. "Did you have it when you came to Hogwarts?"

"Yes."

"It would be a great tool for sneaking around, you know, Dad."

He shuffles his feet.

"Your mum would kill me if I answered that truthfully, Devlin. Lets just say this is one instance where you and I share a lot of common ground."

"Think we could sneak to the kitchens without anyone noticing? I'd love some pie." Harry laughed, his own eyes alighting.

"Oh, my _son!"_ He said, throwing an arm around the boy. "Just you wait until I hand down your next item of inheritance!"

OoOoOoOoO

The next day, on his way to Defense Against the Dark Arts, he runs into Samuel Bowman. Their gazes catch for a moment. The boy scowls and Devlin frowns. A regular boy would apologize, wouldn't they?

_If you're going to start apologizing, you should start speaking to Maria..._

"Devlin, we're gonna be late to Defense," Green says, grasping his elbow and pulling him forward. Devlin follows after him, Samuel and his gaze locked with each other until the older boy turns a corner. Green, like the observant Slytherin he is, of course notices.

"Are you mad at that boy?"

"No."

Green shrugs. "Coulda fooled me," he says, and then, knowing better, drops the subject.

OoOoOoO

Defense is full of Ranclaws and eager hands thrust into the air. They're working on shield charms, but Devlin already knows how to do the simple spell. He proves his knowledge lazily, holds it strong enough for Green to shoot a tripping jinx at, and then he teaches Green. There is still forty minutes left to the class by the time Green knows and they lazily continue practicing, one after another.

"Go faster, Green," Devlin says, smirking. Devlin erects his shield, Kendall attacks, Devlin attacks, Kendall erects his shield. The quicker they get, the more the blue of the shield and the yellow of the jinx mix in the air, until it is like a shower of magic around them. They're both grinning and breathless by the time class is dismissed.

OoOoOoOoO

Her red hair is pulled back into a ponytail and her eyes are focused on her desktop. Devlin slides into the seat beside her and Green, after failing to shoo the person out of the seat next to Devlin, takes up the seat on the other side of Maria.

"I thought you weren't speaking to me," Maria whispers, her head still bent, her hands still doodling on the wood of her desk.

"I wanted to apologize, after class. Will you come talk to me privately after?"

"I have Potions after this."

"When is your free period?"

"After Potions."

Of course, Devlin would have Herbology during her free period.

"Will you walk me to the green houses?"

She nods quickly and then goes silent.

OoOoOoO

Bowman, it happens, shares a free period with Devlin. He is chatting on the third floor. Devlin folds up the map after making sure that Green is still in the library.

He catches him on his way down a narrow hallway that is almost deserted, except for him and his two friends. He grabs hold of the boys arm while he's still in conversation with a friend. It's a Slytherin thing. He can't outright dismiss Devlin who has so much standing in the house, in front of a group of other students, without in some way denouncing the power of the person who gives Devlin this standing - Voldemort. To denounce Voldemort in Slytherin would be very dangerous and stupid.

Instead he dismisses his friends to go ahead of him and turns to speak to Devlin, his features frozen in indifference, but so much hatred in his eyes that Devlin automatically shivers to fight off that numbness that wants so desperately to overtake him.

"Did you want to speak to me, Mr. Potter?"

Devlin is a fluent speaker and if 'um' or 'er' ever fall past his lips it is purposeful, but he finds himself hesitating. It is not the first time he has ever felt uncomfortable and hesitated before speaking, but it is such a rare occurrence that it catches him slightly off guard nevertheless. All the glibness that years with Voldemort have taught him to use whenever he is uncertain or hesitant seems to have slipped through his fingers.

"Well?" Bowman asks again, this time harder and louder with that distinct edge of impatience. The fabric beneath Devlin's hands shifts and he knows the boy is intending to pull out of his grasp. He grabs tighter.

"You wanted to win," he says, because it is an obvious truth and isn't emotional at all. The boy scowls a him. "You wanted to hurt me, because I hurt you."

Bowman makes a sound in the back of his throat, as if to say 'obviously'. Devlin makes himself push forward.

"I couldn't let you do that to me, not there - not with everyone watching."

The fabric is yanked from beneath his fingers, but Bowman doesn't rush to leave his presence, instead he crosses his arms and rises to his full height. He is only a couple inches taller than Devlin, but Devlin can sense he wants to make good use of them.

"With everyone watching?" The boy seethes with a glint of disbelief in his eyes that surprises Devlin. He frowns a bit and feels that endless reel of possible answers flipping through his mind in quick succession. He catches a few that seem slightly plausible to exam them for a millisecond: indignation that he'd care what others think, disbelief that he'd bring it up, that he's teasing the boy, that he has the gall to say it, that _that_ is his reason for humiliating the other boy, that his words imply he was _the only one humiliated. _He stops short, certain that is the one.

"Everyone was watching you too." He cringes at his own words.

"Do you just like to state the obvious?" Bowman growls harshly.

"No, I really don't." For some reason his answer, to what he is thinking hadn't really been a question, seems to confuse and disturb the older boy.

"You could have just disarmed me you know, Potter." There is a bite to his voice and that anger is still in every fiber of his body. His eyes look hurt.

"I didn't want to look weak or forgiving," Devlin says, and he lets what emotion are in those words remain. He's surprised when his voice takes on a slight whine.

"And you think _I _wanted to look weak?"

"No."

His one word seems to enrage Bowman.

"They tortured him because of you! In front of me!" There it is, that glint of pure fury and terror that Devlin knew he would see and yet had wanted to avoid. _Don't look away, don't look away._ He needed to see that. This is what his father was talking about. This was the medicine Devlin needed and it tasted just as rancid in his stomach as his wolfsbane.

"I know."

"I bet you bloody smiled when you found out, because you're so bloody like _him _and-"

"I cried."

The words seem to startle Bowman, but then he seems to shake himself and he reaches out to push Devlin against the stone wall, hard.

"What if I want you to cry some more?" There is a terror in his eyes as his hands shake against Devlin's chest and Devlin knows he won't, even if Devlin is ready to let him try. Bowman isn't like him - he's a regular boy. "Well, what if I did!"

"I won't."

"Why not - wouldn't give me the bloody satisfaction?"

"I would if I could for you, but I can't cry anymore." Bowman frowns and sets his lips in a thin like. _Disbelief. _This time its reason is easy for Devlin to comprehend: he think's Devlin is lying. "I don't ever feel sad anymore." There is no emotions to those words because to him they are just a fact.

"My dad says _he's_ a phychopath - do you know what that is, huh?" There is an edge of bite back in his voice, like he wants to sound taunting. He wants to be the bully.

"Yes."

He supposes he should have said more, because Bowman shoves him hard against the stone wall again, his eyes full of anger.

"Well, what is it! Prove you know!"

"A psychopath is a person who suffers from psychopathy and cannot feel the full depth of emotions like a normal person."

"Sounds a hell of a lot like you!" Bowman says, his scowling lips mere inches from Devlin's own face.

"Yes, it does."

There is a cruel smile on Bowman's face now.

"They should lock you up somewhere and throw away the key for what you did to my dad."

"I told a lie and I am sorry for that lie-"

"You're a psychopath, you can't be sorry!"

Devlin scraps his head against the stone wall as he tips his head to one side, perplexed. Bowman was right, of course, but yet Devlin felt disbelief. He _was_ sorry. He had lied to save his own skin, which wasn't right, but it's not like he'd done it just so Bowman's father would be tortured. He had beaten Bowman like he had because he had hurt Devlin and it had enraged him that he'd cheated and also because all those eyes had been on him and if there is one thing Devlin fears it is being weak. Weakness means there is no control and Devlin has always associated lack of control with that first time he'd been thrown in front of his Grandfather. Weakness - lack of control - pain.

"I _am_ sorry."

Bowman snarls and one of those hands leaves his chest to be pulled taunt behind Bowman's head. Devlin watches the motions as the arm is thrust forward. He'd shown weakness to this boy, given up control and now it is time for the cycle to fulfill itself: pain.

There is a sickening sound as Bowman's fist hits the side of his nose and his nose bends with the force. Bowman's other hand is still gripping his robes at his chest and Devlin isn't sure he'd be standing without it's presence.

For a moment they just look at each other, blood streaming down Devlin's face, tears already brimming by Samuel's eyes. Devlin knows the only wetness on his own face is the blood. He hadn't been lying to Bowman.

Bowman thrusts him to the side and then he is running away down the hallway, his school robes billowing after him. Devlin stands up again and reaches towards his nose. The blood is already dripping down his chin onto the stone below. He looks around to make sure no one had witnessed their conversation and then walks to the Hospital Wing, wishing he were better at healing charms.

He hadn't thought Bowman had it in him. That anger, that _fury, _that need _lash out _an regain control - he had seen it all in Bowman's eyes. He knows what that feels like, like the world is slipping away from you and the only way to make everything stop crumbling is to regain control over _anything_. He hadn't thought regular boys, of which he is sure Bowman is, to be able to feel that same way. He frowns as he makes his way through the hallways, thinking intently on the idea, while his blood soaks into the sleeve of his robe. Thankfully, the halls are empty and he only has to hear one gasp of "oh Merlin" from the nurse herself.

"What happened?" She asks quickly, grabbing a flannel and pushing it against his nose with his head tipped up.

"I had a row with someone," he says.

"Does it hurt, dear?" There is a look on her face that Devlin knows well, it is the you're-not-acting-like-a-regular-boy look.

"Yes."

The look intensifies, but the nurse preforms the proper charms and in no time his nose is back in the right way and there is a charm blocking his passages to insure the tissue and bone heals properly. She assures him he'll be able to breath through it in a couple hours and he nods and excuses himself. There is a bit of annoyance on her face as he turns away, probably because he had refused to name the other child.

"I'll have to inform your parents, of course." He won't argue with her not too, because he knows it is hopeless to argue with Madam Pomfrey. So he nods and continues to the exist. He needs a new pair of robes before class.

_**Sorry guys, I guess that "up coming" didn't make it into this chapter. There was just an between scene that was giving me some trouble and since this is already nearly 4,000 words, I thought I could split them up. **_

_**What did you think? I'm not completely happy with the Harry/Devlin conversation, to be honest. It will come to me, I suppose. In the rewrite - like all this new stuff has come to me about Devlin Potter's Story. **_

_**Please review! Thank you so much to Bixy, PasDeBadAnkles, and Jmeec316. You are AWESOME! It is here today instead of Monday or Tuesday because of you guys! **_

_**Now everyone else, stop being lame and REVIEW so I can call you awesome too!**_

_**Upcoming: **_

"Wouldn't you have punched, in the same position?"

"No, sir." Because he would have waited to punch the boy in public, where he would have reaped the most benefits. Punching Devlin hadn't given Bowman anything, at least not that Devlin could see. Words did not hurt Devlin like they hurt others.


	14. The Real Boy

He can feel Madam Pomfrey's overprotective gaze on him until he turns a corner. He doesn't know why she's bothering - he's perfectly fine now. He'd even come into the Hospital wing on his own!

He is just passing the Potion's classroom on his way to the dungeons when the the class begins filtering out.

_Maria!_

Their eyes catch and he see's the surprise in her eyes to see him waiting for her instead of in the front hall like they had agreed on, quite quickly, at the end of Charms class. Her blue eyes shimmer with anxiety and uncertainty; he hates to see them anything but happy.

"Hi, Maria," he says kindly when she is within reach. She frowns and Devlin very nearly curses - of course he can't speak accurately! Bloody nose.

"Devlin, what's wrong?" Her nose is wrinkling and her eyes have gone cold with the fear that is settling in them.

"I'm alright, we were gonna walk together, right?" She nods but when he begins to lead the way out of the dispersing crowd, she stands still.

"I can smell the blood, Devlin," she says softly and he turns around to see tears in her eyes. "What's happening to you, Devlin?"

His brain quickly picks up her choice of word: _happening_ not _happened_.

"Scurify," he whispers, his hand over his robes, and some of the blood disappears. He was never very good at cleaning spells - he probably knows them as well as his fellow eleven year olds. He almost laughs at the thought of his grandfather insisting he knew how to clean. "I got into a row, Maria. I didn't have time to change if I still wanted to talk to you..." He doesn't mention that he very nearly forgot, too.

"Devlin...you should go change."

"No." She takes a step back at his sharp word. "Please Maria - I want us to talk."

"Only if you let me clean your robes - you're horrible at cleaning spells, you know." He nods quickly to reassure her that he will meet any of her conditions and stretches out his arm. She's much better at Scurify than him and after she's cast it twice, his robe feels a bit more like fabric and a lot less like slow-drying plaster.

"Thanks," he says and smiles charmingly down at her. She nods tightly, her eyes still full of nervousness and uncertainty.

"Why did you get in a row?" She asks, her voice innocent but her hands twisting in front of her that told him the question was quite purposeful.

"I was trying to apologize to someone." He'd told himself already he wasn't going to tell on Bowman. Telling Maria would be wrong.

"Why did you need to apologize?" She asks quietly, her eyes downcast but her brow speaking volumes of her curiosity.

"I lied about something he didn't do and got him into trouble a while ago. Recently I suppose I upstaged him a bit and he didn't take to well to it."

She's frowning in that way that always means she's thinking through something carefully.

"So he punched your nose?"

"Yeah," Devlin says.

"You let him," she says, a statement without a hint of a question. He frowns.

"Why do you think I let him punch me?"

Finally she looks up from her shoes and into his face. Her eyes aren't nervous anymore - they are alight with calculation and cunning and everything that had once made him think they might be in Slytherin together. She pauses and he thinks she is ready to make some grand motion with her hands, which isn't that uncommon when she is ready to express something, but instead her hand is coming towards him. Surprised and a little hurt, he catches her hand gently before she can finish the motion of _slapping _him.

"Because, Devlin," she says calmly, her eyes shimmering with that damned bravery that had condemned Devlin to be in Slytherin without her, " if you hadn't been willing to let him hurt you then he wouldn't have gotten chance."

He lets go of her wrist, realizing she had been demonstrating a point. That strange feeling he'd felt in his lungs like a cool dull ache, disappeared with the realization. She wasn't really going to hurt him.

"Why did you let him hurt you?" The nervousness hasn't returned, but now there is concern for him in her eyes.

"If I stopped him I would have been upstaging him again, yeah?" He shrugs. "So I let him hurt me. He wanted to feel powerful. I thought it would show him I meant what I said, if I didn't stop him."

"What do you mean?"

He sighs loudly.

"Maria, why do you care about this? I'm alright." Apparently that had been the wrong thing to say, because that thoughtful frown turns into a scowl and those eyes narrow to become ice daggers.

"I care about it because I care about you!" She growls in frustration. "You don't get it, do you? Can't you imagine this from my position?"

He frowned at her and furrowed his brow, tipping his head and considering her.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," her voice is soft now and there are tears collecting at the edges of her eyes, "can't you see how you hurting is hurting me?"

Well no, he hadn't. How could him hurting hurt her? How was he hurting? He didn't feel hurt... What was she _on_ about?

"I'm sorry if I hurt you..." he says, sincere but uncertain what, exactly, he is apologizing for.

"Everyone who cares about you can see it, Devlin," she says. They are just outside the castle steps.

"See what?"

"See what he did to you!" She takes a step closer to him. "You're trying to act all big and scary, because if you don't, then you're just you - Devlin Potter. I bet he doesn't even like who you really are. I do! I like the real you!"

She swung around from where they had momentarily paused and strode off towards the Green House.

"I'm not a little boy anymore," he calls after her. After the words slip past his tongue, he's grateful that the crowd has already dispersed and there aren't any students near him. She turns around and nearly collides with him. Her hand reaches out and she pokes his chest with one finger.

"Oh yes you are! You're a boy, just like I'm a girl!"

"I'm a young man," he says, his voice tight and sharp now.

"Why, 'cause your father said so? _Pish_," she waves her hand dismissively. "They say that because you're off to school and they won't see you and they tell themselves it's because you're all big and whatever. They don't mean you aren't a kid anymore!"

His mouth has gone suddenly dry. He licks his lips and drags in a ragged breath. He almost wants to run away from her again. His heart is pounding, his thoughts whirling. She's frowning at him, her hands are reaching out again. He takes a step back and feel everything blurring a bit. _Stop, stop, stop_, his brain is screaming, like some drum in his mind. The numbness is creeping upon him. Her hand is on his arms. There are tears in her eyes.

"I'm only real when I'm with you," he says softly and his words reach his ears in a haze. He pulls his arm away from her and dashes off towards the Green House. The class is already in session. He pauses at the entrance to take a breath and calm his nerves, when he realizes his face is wet. Tears. He's crying. His chest feels achy and his mind dull. _Hurting_. Is this what hurting is?

"Mr. Potter?" It is Professor Longbottom, standing at the entrance. He must have seen Devlin's untimely arrival. Devlin wipes at his face, the spell to correct his surely puffy eyes slipping past his mind. It's another one of those spells he knows only as well as his year mates. Voldemort never allowed him to cry, so why teach him such a spell? He wipes again.

"Sorry, Professor," he intones, trying to gather himself up and look more confident.

"Did something happen, Mr. Potter?" He's shut the door to the Green House.

"Sorry, sir. I just - nothing sir. I'll...I'm sorry I'm late."

"That's alright, Mr. Potter. I always a award a one-time-only late pass for every student, every year. Now, you look like you've been running quite fast to get here, with quite a," he pauses to look at Devlin's nose, "newly broken nose. I'm sure it's been hard to breath and run at the same time. Others might mistaken your predicament as 'crying' so - would you like me to fix your face?" He nods quickly and gratefully and a moment later his tears and the puffiness are gone.

"Thank you, Professor."

"Not at all, Mr. Potter. I often found it difficult to run all the way to Herbology as a young man," he leads Devlin into the classroom and then announces, "Thank you Mr. Potter for bringing that message from Professor Snape. I'll be sure to send up the ingredients he is missing right away."

Devlin knows _what_ the Professor is doing, but he's not sure _why_ he would. He nods and replies with a quick 'yes, sir' because he's not about to look a gift Hippogriff in the mouth.

oOoOoOo

Devlin stays outside, watching _little me_ crawling around the snow during lunch. She has a heating charm on her, which she had hissed in pleasure when he'd applied. He isn't sure he can face Maria in such a public place right now. What if he starts crying in the middle of the Great Hall?

Finally his stomach urges him inside and he lifts up the little snake, who hisses in discontent, and puts her in his pocket.

'_I really must name you,' _he hisses softly at her.

'_Name, name, name - for what? I am __**me**_**." **Devlin chuckles a bit - he supposes snakes don't usually have names for themselves. Still, he needs a name for her.

He peers around the Great Hall. Lunch is dwindling down and there are only ten or so people at each table now. He'll have twenty minutes to eat at the most. There is no Maria and there is no Bowman. Perhaps Bowman is avoiding the Great Hall as well.

He eats quickly and then scurries out of the Great Hall to make his way down to the dungeons. He has Potions now. He's thankful that he can finally breathe. No good would come from Snape knowing he'd been in a fight.

oOoOoOo

Green motions him over as soon as he crosses the threshold into the classroom. They're both early enough that there are a half a dozen empty spots, but not early enough to have arrived before Snape.

"Get done what you wanted too?" Green whispers, curiosity sparkling in his eyes even as his voice is slightly dull, proving he knows he probably won't get the answer he wants.

"Yes," Devlin whispers back, seating himself and pulling out his book.

Silence reigns in the classroom. Hands are too busy for talking, eyes too focused to be distracted. Having Potions with Ravenclaw, Devlin thinks, has it's benefits.

They are brewing a simple boil cure Potion and although Devlin has never brewed the potion (his Grandfather hadn't thought Potions were as important as spells), he certainly knows how to brew potions in general, and so this simple one is just that - boringly simple.

He rolls his eyes when Calloway manages to dump his porcupine quills in before it's off the fire, despite that the words 'after removal from the flame' are underlined on the board. Green himself almost chops the fangs instead of crushes them, but Devlin reaches out discretely to stop the boy from adding the ingredient. He looks over at Devlin's own bowl of _crushed_ fangs and nods.

Class is uneventful and rather dull. Devlin is more than happy when he crosses the threshold into the hallway and even a bit triumphant to have escaped without Severus noticing his nose.

OoOoOoO

Dinner is harder to avoid, since Green is watching the clock in the common room and jumps up and exclaims "dinner!" just as the clock strikes seven. His other year mates beam as well and Devlin all at once realizes how suspicious it would look if he avoided two meals in a row. Someone might report the behavior to Severus, and that wouldn't end well. The last thing he needed right now was Severus focused on him. If there was one person he feared getting Bowman's name out of him, it was his Head of House.

Bowman comes into lunch on time, probably for the same reason's as Devlin and they both try valiantly not to look at each other. Calloway is discussing the new broom that's coming out in the fall, William is giving him looks from across the table between comments to Calloway, and Green is rambling on about something to do with a birthday. Devlin isn't really listening. He's thinking about how to deal with Maria.

oOoOooO

Severus Snape comes to the Slytherin common room that night and, with an air of annoyance and impatience drawls: "Devlin Potter, please follow me to my office."

Bowman shoots him another fearful glance. Devlin gets up slowly, knowing that look upon Severus Snape's face. It's the classic I-had-to-deal-with-Harry-Potter look.

Snape says nothing as they walk through the corridors and he opens his door quickly and angrily, shoving Devlin inside. His father's green eyes are looking at him as he stumbles inside, Snape right behind him preventing him from backing up. There is fear and sadness and most cutting - disappointment - in those eyes.

"I heard you got hurt, Devlin." He hates when people use the word 'hurt' for an injury, because it gives Devlin the least possible amount of maneuverability. If he stubbed his toe he got _hurt_. The word can be used by one person to another, even if the injured party didn't _feel_ hurt and still apply appropriately. Even if he'd added 'and you were distressed/upset/in pain when you went to the nurse' Devlin could have turned the words back upon him and shook his head, but because he hadn't, Devlin is forced to nod. "Pomfrey said you got into a row."

His own words. Sometimes he think his father knows him too well, because he seems to have gotten better at leaving Devlin no choices but the truth or an outright lie, over the years. He nods again.

"Why?" Finally something to work with!

"Why were we in the row or why did they hit me?"

"Why did the other boy hit you."

"I never said it was a boy. _He or she_ hit me because _he or she_ wanted to make me hurt because _he or she_ felt like I'd made _him or her_ hurt."

"How would you have made 'him or her' hurt?"

He shrugs.

"I don't understand how other people think, so how should I know what upset him her." That was a lie, but his back is to Severus and his father isn't that good at telling when he lies and honestly - he just doesn't care if they know he's lying anyways. "I assume it was something I said."

"What did you say?"

Devlin quicks an eyebrow and smiles in a chastising way.

"Dad - that's between he or she and I."

"Mr. Potter, as your Head of House, it is also between you and _I." _

He shrugs.

"Then excuse my father and _you and I_ can talk, Professor._" _

"Devlin, you _promised_."

"I assume you are talking about the promise you wanted me to make when you gave me that mirror." His father nods, the plea still in his eyes. "I promised I would call you if I was frightened or if I had a nightmare. I wasn't and I didn't."

"You got your nose broken, Devlin! Don't lie to me and tell me you weren't _frightened_!"

"I won't lie to you, so I won't change my answer. I wasn't."

His father rises from his chair and comes to crouch before him, hands on his shoulders, emerald eyes alight with worry.

"Devlin didn't it hurt? Wasn't there blood? You were frightened - it's okay to feel frightened when someone _breaks your nose_."

Devlin blinks calmly.

"I wasn't. I knew the nurse would be able to heal my nose."

"Devlin," he begins, his voice desperate, those hands clinging to him a bit on his shoulders. "Don't lie to me."

"You want me to be scared and hurt and upset because that's what Emma would feel - that's what this other child felt, just because _he or she_ hurt me - but me...I didn't feel frightened or scared," he says softly, shrugging away those hands. "I started the fight, a while ago, and _he or she_ had every right to be upset with me, although I didn't think _he or she_ had it in them. I didn't think _he or she_ would actually hurt me..."

"Why, pray tell, did you think you could start a fight and not have this other child fight back, Mr. Potter?"

Devlin dare not turn around and have Severus and his gaze meet, so he answers while still facing his father.

"I didn't think he or she had it in him or her."

"Wouldn't you have punched, in the same position?" Devlin thinks about this. He had seen that fear and anger and _hurt_ in Bowman. Maria had made hurt sound like fear once when she'd said it was like someone squeezing her lungs or an ache by her heart and that 'it was like nothing could ever be right again' and that she had felt as if her breath had entirely left her, even though she was breathing, and when Devlin had said that was fear, she had said 'no, fear is different.' Devlin has never felt her hurt. Never felt the all consuming ache that he had seen in Bowman's eyes. Only fear, cold, hard, and painful.

"No, sir." Because he would have waited to punch the boy in public, where he would have reaped the most benefits. Punching Devlin hadn't given Bowman anything, at least not that Devlin could see. Words did not hurt Devlin like they hurt others.

"Devlin knows better, Severus." His father says that with such certainty, an almost triumphant smile on his face. He thinks good of Devlin - thinks he is _better_ than Bowman (which he is, but not in the way his father is thinking). Devlin frowns.

"Have you ever physically confronted a student, Mr. Potter?" Of course he had - nearly any house mate in the first and second year that wasn't a girl. Not when he first came to school, but after he had come back from Voldemort he had needed to prove to them that whether he was Voldemort's or not, he wasn't someone to mess with.

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, Devlin." There is such disappointment in his father's voice.

Severus moves from behind him to sit at his table.

"Honestly Potter, you would think this was your first male child!" His father opens his mouth to defend himself to Severus, only to realize there was a bite to the voice, but not to the words. "There is not a boy in my house that wouldn't have answered 'yes' to that question."

That disappointment doesn't leave his father's eyes, although Devlin thinks it might have softened a bit.

"Why did you start a fight with this child?"

"I'm not giving details. You'll pick them apart to identify the student and I won't have _her or him_ named."

"Why are you so intent on protecting this child?" Frustration makes his fathers voice louder and harsher.

"I hurt him or her."

"Not physically!" Devlin shares the same perception, but he had seen the hurt in Bowman's eyes himself, so he knows how real it is.

"Did Voldemort hurt you physically when he kidnapped me?" The comparison shocks his father and he reels back as if Devlin had punched _him, _falling into a chair with that distinct air of defeat.

"Devlin, that's not the same..."

"To that student, I think it felt the same." He blinks calmly, arches an eyebrow critically. "Who are you to say how he or she feels?"

"You can't have said or done anything comparable, Devlin!"

"Yes I can, and yes I have. You _know_ I have, Dad."

"Devlin-"

"Mr. Potter, it is now after curfew. You have seen your child is in one piece. Whatever conversation you now wish to have will have to take place tomorrow."

Harry seems set to argue valiantly, but then he sighs and nods with that same air of defeat.

"You will make sure this child does not hurt Devlin again?"

Severus arches a brow and looks at Devlin.

"Do you expect your health to be compromised tonight?"

"No sir."

"Devlin, promise me you'll be careful."

Devlin is set to disappoint him, but then he realizes what his father's reaction to _that_ will be and he nods. "Slytherin practically has built in alarms for me anyways, Dad. All the little decorations are spelled _snakes_." His father nods and stands up to get some floo powder.

When Severus and he are alone in the office, he stands up to be led back to his common room.

"Sit down, Mr. Potter." Devlin frowns at Severus who is now leaning back in his chair, appearing to get comfortable.

**So, what do you think? I hadn't really planned the Maria/Devlin conversation to go that way, but I really ended up liking it. Right now Devlin feeling the way he does around Maria has less to do with romance and more to do with the fact that everyone else is either with or against Voldemort. Deep down, Devlin knows that Maria owes him for her life and that she is for **_**him**_** not for Harry Potter, not for or against Voldemort. Because he doesn't need to worry about her loyalty, he is free to be himself around her. **

**If you remember, Maria has always seen Devlin's 'pretending' because she commented on it in Devlin Potter's story during her escape (Ch. 27). Now that she's older, she sees he had been fooling himself too. **

**Tentative Upcoming (that's right, all my pre-written material is gone): **

The next morning, there is a barn owl, looking like any other Hogwart's owl, flying over his head and making an elegant landing onto the rim of his plate. The letter it is carrying is addressed with emerald green ink.

**I was amazed and touched by all the reviews I got for the last chapter. You are all wonderful and amazing. For a bit there I had been ready to abandon this fanfic, then Bixy came to my rescue and now you have all kept me motivated. :D **

**Please tell me what you thought! If you don't I'll have Devlin's Patronus go hunting for you. ;)**


	15. The Name Augustus

_"Sit down, Mr. Potter." Devlin frowns at Severus who is now leaning back in his chair, appearing to get comfortable._

"It is past curfew, sir," Devlin reminds him and he feels the anticipatory frown pull at his lips.

"I am well aware of the time, Mr. Potter. Now _sit_ _down._" There is a hard glint to those obsidian eyes and Devlin complies with the demand, knowing better than to push this man too far.

"I won't tell you their name," Devlin feels compelled to say, concreting the notion between them. Snape's eyes narrow.

"If I really wanted to know, Mr. Potter, then I would _make_ you tell me." Devlin doesn't argue. If there is one man he thinks his mind might divulge the truth to, it is this man.

"What do you want to know, then?" There must be something fairly important, if he'd gone through all this trouble to speak to him without his father.

"Your house mates seemed very disturbed by your walk to the Headmaster's office," he says. There is no question - this is a comment meant to elicit an answer.

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't notice."

Snape sneers and his shoulders tense as he leans across his desk, his eyes sharp and accusing.

"Don't lie to _me_, Mr. Potter. I know what a lie looks like."

Devlin keeps his face impassive.

"I didn't notice, sir. If they were upset, of what importance is their reaction? I cannot control how they feel." Snape makes a motion to slam his fist onto his desk, but then changes his mind last minute and awkwardly slows his hand down and begins tapping the wood. Devlin notices.

"It is of the utmost importance!" He says, air coming through his teeth in a hiss afterwards. "It means, despite your betrayal, Voldemort is still protecting you!"

Oh, they were talking about Voldemort. Devlin makes sure his eyes are as unrevealing of emotion as his face.

"I wouldn't know what Voldemort is thinking, sir."

Snape falls into his chair again, slumping. His hand comes up to rub the bridge of his nose.

"Lies are dangerous things, Devlin," he whispers softly, so kindly and defeated that Devlin feels a spark of fear in his chest.

"I know, sir," he feels compelled to say, because he does know, he just can't stop.

"Then why are you lying to me, Mr. Potter?" Those obsidian eyes are still hidden behind that hand.

"Because the game is my protection," Devlin breathes, hardly believing himself. The hand drops away and those eyes are wide in surprise. He hadn't thought Devlin would answer at all, just as Devlin hadn't thought he would until he did.

"Lies make for flimsy shields, Mr. Potter," he warns, his breathing uneven with the truth that this child has shared with _him._

"When you don't have another, any shield feels more secure than it is," Devlin says, his face impassive, like they are simply talking about dueling strategy.

No one has demanded he speak to the boy and Severus admits at this point, he doesn't want to go down this road. The boy is right, loathe as he is to admit that. Potter should be the boy's shield, but Voldemort and Potter were equals and you can't protect yourself fully from an equal. But how far was the boy taking this game? How hard was he willing to play?

"You are dismissed." He scribbles a hall pass out onto paper and hands it quickly to the boy. He needs to think and he can't do it with those eyes looking at him.

"Yes, sir."

OoOoOoO

He's late. The child who is never late for anything, who is prompt and considerate and always follows teachers directions to a T, is late to breakfast. He had been late to lunch the other day. Snape notices these things, especially about the boy. The boy with the name that Lily had wanted for her son, but given way to James Potter's desires instead. The boy with his middle name, even if his father doesn't realize the reason they are the same.

'_I am giving him your middle name, Severus, because I want to believe that you will be a man he would be proud to share a name with.' _

But of course, she never had, and so Severus had never had to a be a man that boy would have to be proud of; Severus had been able to face Harry _James_ Potter and remember easily what he had done to Lily, the only person he had ever loved. It had always been like a sharp stab when his name was called: 'Harry Lily-knew-you-were-an-awful-man Potter'. If she'd really believed in Severus by the time the boy was born, he'd be Harry Augustus Potter, at the very least. But she hadn't. Sometimes he wonders if she'd known what he had done.

Then Harry James Potter had gotten married to a redhead and Severus had gotten drunk after seeing the photo from the newspaper, so much like Lily and James. When they had announced Alexandra's pregnancy, Severus had been sure it would be named either Lily or James, just to continue his torture, but instead a little blue card had arrived by owl to announce that _Devlin Augustus Potter _had been born and Severus had howled with pain and justice.

Lily finally had her Devlin, with little green eyes and a tuft of black hair, but she would never know him. He had stared at the photo of the blinking baby for hours. Devlin _Augustus _Potter.

This would be a child Severus would have to make proud. He had met the boy once before he had been kidnapped, when Potter had brought him to Albus at the school. Albus had called him for tea, fully knowing Potter would be stopping by. Sometimes Severus thinks that Albus' Crucio is his ability to make others remember their past mistakes.

The three year old boy had stepped into the office and looked around with wide _green_ eyes and Severus had been so thankful they were a shade darker than his grandmothers. His face was chubby with childishness and his hands had ghosted along all the nicknacks in Dumbledore's office, but he hadn't played with one of them. Patience, consideration, kindness - all Lily.

"I can do magic too, Albus!" He had cried when Albus had made one of his trinkets whirl and play music. His father had nodded tightly from behind the boy.

"Like what?" Severus had asked, despite himself. Potter had almost reared back in surprise at hearing his voice so unscathing.

"I learned this one for Mummy," the child had said, half secretly, coming very close to him. He had uncurled a fisted hand and there had been a flower. Severus had felt breathless. This, he was sure, was Lily making sure he didn't miss her demand to be a man in whom this boy would be proud.

Then the boy had been kidnapped and thought dead and Severus hadn't known what to do. He had lost his one solid connection to Lily - the boy with his name and her eyes full of emotion and curiosity, just a shade darker so that he could actually look the boy in the eyes.

"Severus, are you feeling alright? You've hardly touched your food." He turns to Dumbledore and away from his thoughts.

"Just thinking, Albus," he says softly, and his eyes wander back to the missing space at breakfast, only to find that next to Green is Devlin now. The boy is sitting up straight, as he always does, but he's not speaking and Severus notices.

In fact, it is only the delivery of a letter that makes the boy's face move at all. Severus narrows his eyes at the owl and the boy and the way the boy almost hesitates to take the letter from the owl. It's not Potter's owl. Whose, then?

The boy takes one look at the envelope and excuses himself from the table. Severus doesn't miss the way his hand is curled tightly around the missive, as if he fears someone else will take it away.

When Severus looks over at Albus again, he finds the sparkling blue eyes dulled and their regard directed at the escaping boy as well.

"I am worried about him, Severus," Albus says, sorrow filling his voice. Severus feels his heart beat faster as panic and determination roil in his gut. It is not good to have Albus Dumbledore worried about you. It will not be good for Devlin if the boy were to speak to Albus the way he had spoken to Severus.

**I know, I know, it's short! I wanted to be able to have an 'upcoming' and I really wanted to post something this weekend. Plus, I didn't get any reviews for the last chapter. *glares at them all*. So shortness is your punishment! **

**What did you think of Snape's POV? It just sort of happened like that, so I let it be. **

**PLEASE, please, REVIEW! PLEASE, please, REVIEW! PLEASE, please, REVIEW! PLEASE, please, REVIEW! **

**Upcoming: **

"What are you doing in an old dusty classroom?" Severus asks, stepping further into the room. He casts a wandless silencing charm, Devlin notes, and Devlin isn't sure if he should be thankful or fearful. Devlin keeps his lips closed, his eyes staring ahead but not into Snape's eyes, and his hand away from that stuffed pocket.


	16. The Game of Secrets

I recently uploaded a new drabble about Devlin in which he visits the cannon timeline and lands in Albus Potter's potion class. Here's a quote, just to make you want to go read it, too! Who knows, there might be more sometime.

**Devlin Potter: The Cannon Sounds:**

_"Would you like me to clean you up a bit?" He asks suddenly and his wand is already drawn and Devlin knows it is not really a question. He wants to see what he looks like, under all this grime. Devlin says nothing and the not-Harry shrugs and seems to give up on his politeness and simply says '__**Scourgify**__' without Devlin's acceptance._

_The other boy laughs at the spiked up hairdo __**Scourgify**__ leaves him with and the not-Harry grins sheepishly, admits he's never been good with the spell, and applies a hair neatening charm. It is then, of course, that the expected happens._

_Now that wand is aimed quite purposefully at him and he looks up at the man with his dark green eyes and perfectly parted hair._

_"Albus, get behind me," he says tensely, each word like a tiny bit of Crucio at Devlin, coming from that face and delivered with that voice. "Now!"_

_Devlin stands and his own wand falls out from the sleeve of his shirt. Albus scrambles to be behind his father, absolutely confused but knowing when to trust this man._

_"I should kill you," he breathes, each word like a knife to his own chest because Devlin knows his father can't kill a child, even if it is one he believes is Voldemort, "even if you don't know why yet."_

_"It was not me who stole those things and hid them in that wardrobe," Devlin says evenly, keeping his wand visible and ready for a fight, but pointed neutrally at the ground. He's not sure he can hurt this man, even if it is a dream or a trick. "It was not me who hung that rabbit from the rafters."_

_The man is eerily calm and the Deputy Headmaster has drawn the other boy to the front of the office, away from them. The squat old man is beside Harry in a moment, peering with the same regard at him. Like he knows him._

_"If it was not you, how do you know about those things!" There is a harshness to his voice that Devlin has never heard in his fathers own voice and it makes his insides shake with panic. Something must be wrong with the world for that voice to sound that way. He has the unmistakable desire to cower behind the man who is at the moment pointing his wand at his heart._

_"My father. He told me about him."_

_"That narrows who your father could be considerably. Tell me, and don't lie. Who is your father?"_

_The man comes a step closer and so does his wand. Devlin moves his eyes to the corner of his vision and peers pleadingly at the dark painting of Severus Snape._

_"My name is Devlin Augustus," he says to the painting, not daring to move anything but his eyes. The paintings eyes snap open at the name and the occupant rises from his chair. "I have her eyelashes and brow and when I crinkle my nose, it looks just like her. My name is Devlin Augustus and I am named after a man she hoped would become a great man. Please, sir."_

OoOoOoOoO **Devlin Potter: Part Two **OoOoOoOoO

'_Devlin, _

_I have been informed that Professor Snape brought you into the Headmaster's office. I have also been informed that this is a highly unusual tactic of his, unless the student has done something especially wrong. I believe I have spoken to you at length about Severus Snape, Devlin. Since your memory has always served you well I expect you to remember everything I have said about the man. You can not help that he is your Head of House, of course. _

_We will discuss this further on your next Hogsmeade weekend. Meet me at the bookstore again. There were some interesting books there, but I feel certain you already knew that. _

His hands aren't shaking and his breathing is even, but there is that coldness in his chest that tells him beyond a doubt that he is scared. It is stupid to be unafraid around Voldemort. One must always have a little fear.

He twists the envelope in his hands as he peers down at the letter again. Telling him that he will be there the next time is strategy, Devlin knows. Now, if he decides not to go into Hogsmeade, Voldemort will know it is because he wants to avoid him. Nothing good comes from wanting to ignore Voldemort when he wants your attention.

He'll have to meet him, that is certain. He can't have Maria there again, though. She won't keep his secret twice, he's sure. Not after she'd gone on about him somehow hurting and he'd _cried_ in front of her.

"Incendio," he whispers watching the letter turn to ash. He can't risk someone reading the contents. He is just about to light the envelope on fire as well, when he hears the door creak open.

"Hello, Mr. Potter."

Devlin spins around at the voice. Those obsidian eyes are still as sharp as they had been last night, those lips still pursed in disapproval. Devlin doesn't say anything.

"What are you doing in an old dusty classroom?" Severus asks, stepping further into the room. He casts a wandless silencing charm, Devlin notes, and Devlin isn't sure if he should be thankful or fearful. Devlin keeps his lips closed, his eyes staring ahead but not into Snape's eyes, and his fist curled around the envelop, making it illegible, he hopes.

"I asked you a question, Mr. Potter."

"Yes, sir."

"When someone asks you a question, Mr. Potter," Snape begins, his voice simpering with sarcasm and false niceness, "you are suppose to provide an answer."

"Reading a bit of a mail, sir," Devlin says, still staring at the mans lips rather than his eyes.

"Mail from your father?" Severus asks, his voice still falsely sweet. Devlin purses his lips but keeps them shut. "Perhaps from your mother?" He makes sure nothing on him moves - his gaze stays the same, his head is perfectly still, his shoulders do not sag, his feet do not shirt. Nothing that could tell the man before him if his questions were right or wrong.

Snape takes a step forward.

"Perhaps - from _Voldemort_?" _Don't move_, Devlin thinks.

Distantly there is a bell that signals the end of breakfast.

"I'm going to be late, sir," he says, picking up his bag and making his way past the Professor. He hopes the Professor doesn't recall his timesheet and realize he has a free period.

"You don't seem to mind being late, Mr. Potter. I heard you were late to Herbology, in fact." Devlin stops just out of Severus' grasp. "Give me the letter, Mr. Potter."

"It's private," Devlin says, feeling that cold fear creeping into his veins.

"Oh, indeed, I am sure it is. Give it to me, _now_."

"No."

The one word answer that had been so unpopular with Bowman appears to be just as unpopular with Snape. There is a wand out, pointed at his heart. Devlin freezes. Snape moves forward quickly and snatches the envelope from his hands.

"Give that here," Devlin demands. "That is mine!"

"You're playing a dangerous game, Mr. Potter."

"What's it to you what game I play?"

"It is everything to me, Mr. Potter," and somehow the words that would have been kind and reassuring coming from Devlin's father manage to be harsh and punishing from this man.

"What do you want from me?" His voice is cold and crushing, his little firsts curled at his side, his lips twisted into a vicious scowl. Snape looks up from the lettering on the envelope and takes a step closer, so that his wand is now touching his school uniform, right by his heart.

"I want to torture you, obviously," he says scathingly, "Don't you consider this torture? Being alive, between all of this? Yes, obviously you do - well I plan to keep you that way."

"I'm not yours to keep."

"Well I'm sure Potter would agree with me. Surely he wants you alive as well, though he has probably overseen the torture aspect. Torture doesn't really interest Mr. Potter. In fact, if he heard you were suffering so, he might be inclined to make some rash intervention."

"But you will tell him anyways."

Severus looks at him for a long moment, seeming to consider the boy.

"I have not much to tell him, at present, have I?" He looks the boy up and down. "I assume you will keep it that way by being cautious with this game."

"Yes, sir," he says tersely, hands itching to grab the envelope back, but knowing better than to push his luck with the already armed Professor.

"If I shall feel, in any way, that you are not being of the utmost responsible in your handling of this game, then I will intervene and you will regret desperately allowing yourself to become reckless. I do not tolerate reckless Potters. I went to school with one and then I taught another and I am _through_ with them. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"What did the letter say?"

Devlin breathes in and out through his nose, trying to calm his temper. This isn't any of his business! Devlin is doing the right thing, keeping every side as complacent as he can. He feels that pinprick of magic starting in his chest and suddenly his fathers words come back to him about the tiny toy robot when he was a little boy. He shuffles his feet and bites his tongue, bringing his temper under control once more.

"It spoke quite briefly about you and the Headmaster," he says scathingly, making sure Severus knows how much Devlin hates this exchange and what the Professor is doing to him; making him vulnerable and weak.

"I am sure he spoke fondly of us both. Tell me what compliments he bestowed upon me, his once most loyal servant."

"He didn't say anything except to remember you were a traitor." For a moment the sneer slips from Severus' face and Devlin almost thinks his next words are delivered with a hurt scowl, but Devlin must just be too angry to be reliable in his reading.

"Is that what you think of me? A traitor?"

"I know you loved a mudblood," Devlin says. He wants Snape to feel weak and vulnerable like Devlin; afraid of what _Devlin_ could tell about him. If he were afraid like Devlin he wouldn't try to get in the way of his game. He wants him to hurt.

Snape's eyes darken and narrow but no admonishment slips past his lips like one would from his parents or another teacher. He's heard these words. He knows where Devlin has been. He has been there himself; he knows what Devlin has heard. Devlin could probably talk about what they do to Muggles they are captured or Mudbloods or Half-bloods and Severus' expression wouldn't change. This man has seen what Devlin has seen, through the same eyes of a deceiver.

"You know only what Voldemort has told you. You are a smart enough boy to know a sickle isn't one sided."

"He said you begged for her life, _on your knees_." Severus is sneering and Devlin presses on, because he can see the hurt behind all that harshness. "He said he didn't understand your _obsession_ but he asked her anyways. Told her to step aside. He was already dead downstairs. He'd been _playing_ before Voldemort had broken in. Making pretty lights for my father, as Voldemort said. He left his wand on the sofa and so did she. They were wandless. Defenseless. _Stupid._"

He takes a breath, looking up into the eyes that are almost more hurt than harshness. He has that feeling again like swallowing a whole vial of Pepper-Up potion in one go, or a thousand wasps zooming around in his chest. The feeling of power. He grins wickedly at the vulnerability and weakness and hurt in Severus' eyes.

"He told me. Told me _everything_. Told me what made you so loyal - the information you gave him."

"I-"

"It's funny, because you always demand my father call you Snape and not Severus, but you hold the information in your hands to make him hate you again, don't you? You killed them. It was more you than anyone else."

And instead of Devlin needing to escape Severus it is Severus who spins on his heels and retreats, bat-like, out of the room. Devlin had won. Severus was more afraid of Potter knowing his secret than he was willing to tell Potter Devlin's secret. He smirks into the deserted room, trying not to feel that twinge of regret and remorse and trying, above that, not to feel that niggling sense that he might have preferred it if the Professor had pushed him and made him tell.

He makes his way out of the empty classroom. He has a good half an hour before his next class and he intends to spend it in the library. He has to calm his nerves. If he hadn't known that secret about Severus, such behavior would have been inexcusable. He has to keep his temper cool and he _must_ figure out how to hide his communications with Voldemort. As it is, Severus still has the envelope, but Devlin suspects the ink will disappear in a few hours. At least, he hopes that charm is capable of making it through Hogwart's wards.

Green is already at their usual table and he looks up with an air of annoyance at Devlin's lateness. Devlin merely shrugs and grabs one of the books Green has selected as relevant to their studies. He's read it before, he notes after the first page, but he keep reading just so he'll stop thinking about that hurt in Severus' eyes.

Maria's words come back to him about seeing things from _her_ perspective and he finds himself wondering if this is something others do or she is just unusually perceptive. Certainly he can draw conclusions: if Green looks annoyed it is probably because Devlin hadn't told him he was leaving the breakfast table suddenly. If he did something rude in class, it not only felt bad to the Professor but reflected badly upon the Professor as well. Maria, however, seemed to have perfected this to an art - his hurt hurting her?

He tries to figure out how she does it. What would she ask herself to draw such conclusions? How would she know Voldemort didn't like the real Devlin - it was this comment that made him know she had _must _be unusually perceptive. There must be some advantages to learning how to think like that and draw such accurate conclusions.

_Probably_, he thought as he turned the page on "Tips for Basic Transfiguration", _you would start with analyzing how your words could have been taken. But my words to Snape were very straight forward concerning Lily Potter. Perhaps the key is in thinking about how I _looked_ while saying them? I was angry, so my eyes were narrowed and I think my brow was furrowed, and I felt like yelling, so my neck was tight... _

_This isn't getting me anywhere. _

_What had she said? 'Can't you imagine this from my position?' Yeah..._

_Alright, so what was _Severus_ thinking. _

He shook his head. It was impossible, he hadn't been in Severus' mind - so he couldn't know.

_But she'd know. _

He growled in frustration.

"Green?"

"Yeah?"

"What does the phrase 'can't you imagine this from my position?' mean to you?"

Green frowns a bit and puts his book down.

"It's a bit like saying 'in another mans shoes' yeah?"

"What does _that_ phrase mean?" Green is frowning more, as if he is startled Devlin doesn't know.

"Well, it's like, whenever I complained about cleaning my room as a kid, my Da would say "try walking a mile in my shoes", because he thought it was harder being him than me."

Devlin tries to store this away.

"So like, if you made someone upset, how would that phrase apply?"

"It'd be like asking you if you knew how or maybe why you'd upset them? Like if you said something mean but you hadn't meant it that way, you know, but the other person thought it was mean. Then your acting like you'd been nice and you don't know why the other person is upset. So when they said you upset them, you'd try to see your words from their perspective."

Devlin leans closer to Green, eyes alight with tantalizing triumph just out of his reach.

"Yes, yes, but _how. _How do you see your words from their perspective?"

Green frowns again in that shocked and slightly confused way, like he is explaining how to walk or form sounds or use magic.

"Well, Mum always told me: how would it make you feel if they did that to you? Like if I got into a fight with some other boy. Course Da said that was complete rubbish..."

"Is it a girl thing?"

"I suppose. Lots of mum stuff is, I would think."

"But you can...put yourself in someone else's shoes?"

"Well yeah, everyone can imagine it from the other persons view, right? But sometimes it's sorta hard, especially if you don't know what you said wrong. Or like, it's a girl thing. Like once I showed a girl a worm and she got all upset - but how was I supposed to know I'd frightened her with a _worm_? It wasn't until she told me that I knew. Now I know worms frighten girls," he shrugs here, "but even putting myself in her shoes, I couldn't have known that, because I'd just be thinking - what's frightening about a worm?"

Devlin nods to show he's understood, but in reality he really hasn't.

'_You have to try things to learn,'_ Grandfather had often told him when he was stubbornly certain he couldn't do something he'd never done before.

Alright, then he'd try for a while, with small things.

He starts with the confused look on Green's face, who is wearing that look even as he pulls his book back up and begins reading again.

Why would Green look so startled at explaining this in "another's shoes" concept?

He finds his mind building a web of conclusions. Green is a pureblooded boy. As a pureblooded boy, he has grown up surrounded by whatever he needs and doted upon by his parents. His friends have been likewise treated. They come to Hogwarts no more prepared academically than other magically raised children - they are not pushed to know things like Devlin had been pushed. This thought leads him to the fact that he would have been a different boy without Voldemort. He is different.

He is different from these other children Green had grown up surrounded by. He is strikingly intelligent and well-prepared academically. He knows a lot about a lot of things. He explains many a social situation to Green and is able to glide his way smoothly through any conversation. He knows how to make comments about emotions even if he doesn't fully grasp them. He can be charming and comforting. He is never out of his element.

But suddenly he hadn't understood something that was so fundamental for Green that he had been shocked that _Devlin_ hadn't known. It had disturbed him. _Like the first time Voldemort knew what I was thinking about. Like the first time Dad had cried in front of me. Like when I realized I didn't understand love like everyone else. _Shift. A shift in realization. Green's reality had just shifted to account for the fact that there was some social standard that he didn't know.

"No one ever said that phrase to me," he says and Green's eyes shift up. Repair. Devlin has to repair that crack. "It's essentially like drawing conclusions based on the other persons knowledge and personality versus your own. No one had ever told me to do that, so I was wondering what this other person meant when they talked about it."

"It's a pretty common phrase," Green says tentatively, like he's not sure if he's allowed to point out this shortcoming in Devlin's knowledge.

"I don't complain much. I usually repair social issues quickly. I don't think I've ever left my parents needing to say that to me." He pauses. "And my grandfather - well he likes to think _he's_ always right, so there is not a need to see anything from an others shoes, eh?"

"Yeah I suppose so," Green says and that confused regard is gone and there is a smile there instead. Devlin nods, satisfied that he hasn't lost respect in the boys eye.

oOoOoOoOo

It had been an oversight, sneaking into an unlocked classroom to read that letter. Anyone could have found him. It was only his luck it was Snape and not Dumbledore, he realizes in the middle of the night that same day.

The next morning, before anyone has risen, he is dressed and in the common room, waiting for the clock hand by the door to move beyond the portion labeled: 'No Student's In the Halls'. The moment it does, emitting a soft soothing hiss, he rushes out the door and into the deserted halls.

Madam White is just unlocking the Library doors when he reaches them and the young Librarian gives him a small smile.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," she says softly. Devlin is in there enough for her to know him upon sight even though he is only a first year and already missed months of schooling. "What is a growing boy your age doing up so early, hmm?"

"I kept thinking about something last night, Madam," he says, sending her a charming smile that he thinks he perfected long before his time with Voldemort. She smiles again, always disarmed by his politeness that is so often lacking with her other student interactions. "And so I _had_ to find a book about it."

"Oh, and what would that be, Mr. Potter?"

He looks down a bit so that he looks a bit hesitant to explain and lets his words drag out just a whisper longer.

"Well my school bag you see - it's strap got broken when one of the older students took it from me a while ago. I got Professor Remus to fix it for me," he looks up at her. This is all truthful, although it had been quite a while ago when everyone had been convinced Voldemort had disowned him. "And they took my favorite quill. I thought maybe I could learn some charms to protect my bag!"

She is smiling at him still and she finishes unlocking and leads him inside.

"I can show you some excellent books. You can do many things to bags. Protection charms, extension charms, notice-it-not charms."

Devlin bounces beside her and it is not an act, although he admits the reaction does seem to put her in even better spirits as she leads him to the appropriate sections and takes down some books for him.

"Would you like me to just sign them out for you, dear?"

"Yes! Thank you so much, Madam!"

And so he went to breakfast with a much heavier school bag and sat down eagerly to read about extension charms first.

He had to be ready for anything. If he was caught by Voldemort again, he needed to have his things. If he escaped from him, he couldn't go hungry like last time. If he had to run from his father, he had to be ready to not be caught by either of them.

He can feel Severus' gaze on him the whole time he is there, but he ignores the regard. He has Potions later - best not to get into any glaring matches beforehand. But first, he has charms.

**What did you think? This chapter was pretty hard to write, honestly. **

**Upcoming: **"I didn't think you'd sit next to me," she says softly. Green is further up the front, probably having thought the same thing and Devlin shoots him an apologetic and reassuring smile that he thinks looks realistic enough.

"Yes you did. You knew I would."

**PLEASE REVIEW! If you don't review, I'll make Maria lecture you! She's pretty good at those, isn't she? So there! Review or be doomed! ;) **


	17. Anything But Average

OoOoOoOoO

She is wearing a blue ribbon in her hair today, pulled into a relaxed braid that he thinks she might have done herself. At the collar of her uniform he can see the blue something that she is wearing underneath. She looks up when he enters the room and simply stares at him. He narrows his eyes; she's playing Slytherin style today.

He swears she is probably wearing a blue dress underneath her uniform. Making him remember that he'd dared to defy Voldemort once before for her. As he walks towards her and sits down next to her he admits it is working, just a bit.

"I didn't think you'd sit next to me," she says softly. Green is further up the front, probably having thought the same thing and Devlin shoots him an apologetic and reassuring smile that he thinks looks realistic enough.

"Yes you did. You knew I would." There is a bit of smugness tugging the right side of her lip upwards. "I won't say what you want me to say - not here."

"I don't need you to say it at all, Devlin." He turns to her, his gaze sharp and disbelieving. Everyone seems to want to hear those words, except perhaps Snape and Voldemort and now...Maria?

"Why not?"

"I already know you mean them. I just wish you could see what I can see."

"I'm not like everyone else." She shrugs as if to disagree and then turns back towards the Professor.

They're learning Alohomora today, which Devlin already knows. The simple unlocking charm makes him itch for more of a challenge. Like his mother, he supposes, he loves undoing wards and locks. He hasn't gotten the chance since he had left Voldemort...

"Well done, Mr. Potter," the Professor cheers, coming over to him and watching him unlock a simple padlock in front of him. "Now try this one."

It is larger and bulkier, but still muggle made. Devlin makes short work of it and Flitwick's eyes widen.

"Now this one," he encourages, levitating one of the various locks from his desk. It is a muggle one with a couple simple warding spells. Devlin only has to breath the word more firmly and it unlocks with a click.

"And this one," the tiny Professor breathes and now Devlin can feel some of the classes eyes on him and he knows the Professor is fascinated. Green is turned around in his seat to watch.

Devlin turns the padlock around in his hands. It is a Magical lock of magically strengthened steel with some common, but advanced, wards on the locking mechanisms. It is clearly meant to resemble a muggle lock, probably for use in areas that house both muggle's and wizard's. Devlin has seen locks like this at his own house.

This one won't be so easy. He touches his wand tip to the lock and murmurs the unlocking charm, knowing full well it won't work. The little Professor almost floats it out of his reach, but he grabs it midair and drags it back towards himself, touching his wand to it again and feeling out the magic inside of the little lock.

If he were alone he would use some of his own spells, but he dare not show his full knowledge in class and so he will do it like he did as a young child - with raw magic. He feels out the tiny cords of magic all tied together and inches them gently apart. Any rapid jostling will only result in them snapping tighter together - there is an anti-lock ward on them all.

It takes him four minutes, but the locks gives a satisfying 'click' and snaps open upon his desk. Flitwick squeaks and jumps into the air.

"That is marvelous, Mr. Potter!" He says. After a moment he seems to compose himself and instructs the class to continue practicing. Devlin starts in on an essay.

On his way out, Flitwick stops him at his desk.

"Mr. Potter?" Devlin tries to show no emotion, but inside he feels that tightness in his chest that is the beginning of fear. Had he shown too much?

"Yes, sir?"

"I have a challenge for you," Flitwick has a merry glint to his eyes. He floats up another lock and lets it hang in front of Devlin. "I challenge you to break this lock by the end of the year."

Devlin snatches it out of the air to examine the thing that Flitwick considers such a challenge and realizes with a start that it is Goblin made.

"This is made by Goblins," he says and winces at his obvious statement.

"Yes it is."

"It won't respond to normal charms, sir."

"No, it won't. It will, however, respond to raw magic." There is a glint of amazement and pride in the Professors eyes and Devlin realizes that he shouldn't have unlocked either lock, except, they can't really blame this on Voldemort, can they? This is just him - just his raw talent. He pockets the lock.

"I couldn't say no," Devlin says, "I like locks."

"Yes, I noticed."

Devlin pauses at the doorframe, Green is waiting in the hallway for him, and turns around for a moment.

"Professor?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter?"

"You wouldn't have any recommendations for books on Goblin language, would you?"

A note floats across to him, the ink already dry on it's surface and Devlin knows that he'd asked the right question.

"Thanks, Professor," he says, and strides out into the hallway.

Green is indeed waiting for him, his body leaning against the stone wall across from the Charm's door, his hands folded across his chest. He is glaring out of the corners of his eyes, at Maria, who is also waiting. Except she seems far more relaxed and ready to spring into action; the moment the Charm's door is closed behind him, she is rushing forward, a grin across her face, and pulling at his arm.

"Come take a walk with me!" She says enthusiastically. "Please?"

Green is sneering now, obviously annoyed. Devlin should be, too. He doesn't like to be handled like this or to be manipulated, especially in such an obvious manner. But this is Maria and there is that flutter in his chest like there always is when she is touching him. He can't say no. Not to Maria.

"Alright," he says softly, making sure not to look at Green.

"We have studying to do, Devlin!" Green says, stomping childishly after them.

"I already know all of it; I'll show you tonight. Meet me in our dorm room." Maria is dragging him faster, and he shoots one final look at Green before Maria drags him around a corner. She doesn't stop until they are outside under a tree.

"I've been thinking about what you said," she says, her hands on her hips now, that enthusiastic grin no longer present, her eyes no longer sparkling but instead gleaming. Devlin swallows, getting the feeling that he actually _has_ been tricked. He thinks he will dash away from her if she mentions his crying.

"Like what?" He says, his voice defensive.

"Like about being real, and how you said in class you aren't like everyone else."

"I'm not. I'm not like Thomas or Freddie or Kendall."

"No, you're not.." she allows, her voice soft and slow, like she hadn't particularly wanted to bring them into her argument.

"I'm not a regular boy, Maria," he says, hoping she understands. She wants him to be a regular boy, he kno ws, but he can't be and he doesn't want to pretend around her. He pretends with everyone else - not with Maria.

"You're not an _average_ boy," she stresses, nodding to herself as much as him. "You're perfectly regular, you're just not average. How can you be? Things have happened to you that don't happen to the _average_ boy. You're not average. And that's mostly good, because most boys are very annoying."

He feels warm suddenly, in his fingers and neck and especially his cheeks. Is he flushed? Is he _blushing?_ Maria's words remind him of his mother's words from all those years ago, when she had reassured him that he was more perfect than any other boy, because he was the worst of the worst and the best of the best.

He wets his suddenly dry lips, wipes his suddenly sweaty palms on his pants legs, swallows past his suddenly constricted throat. There is something about Maria that he can't pinpoint that always seems to disrupt his most well-secured composure.

"I- I did bad things, Maria. Things boys aren't supposed to do," he glances around them nervously, but everyone is far away. _No one else is a werewolf here,_ his wolf whispers in the back of his mind, _no one can hear you._ Still, he casts a discrete privacy spell around them, without uttering a word. _That_ is one of those spell he is far better at than his classmates.

"I know," she says, her hands lank against her thighs, her eyes soft and pressed down at the edges by her worried brow and thin sad lips.

"You don't know," he says, voice anything but angry, taking a step forward. "I don't _want_ you to know," he says, his heart pounding against his ribcage at the mere thought that she would know his sins. "Anyone but you, Maria."

"I won't think badly of you," she says and now she is biting her bottom lip, her brow more furrowed than before, tears collecting at the edges of her brilliant blue eyes. "You _saved_ me, Devlin. I know you're a good boy."

He reaches towards her and now it is him dragging her, back into the castle, up two flights of stairs, up and down a hallway three times, and into a small little room that hadn't been there moments before. She is staring at awe at the barren little room that isn't impressive at all. It is just a room, without chair or sofa, without window, with only pretty calming lights to illuminate their faces. Calming, that's what Devlin thinks as he closes the door. There's nothing to distract him, no bright light for her to see his fear and panic in detail.

"I can do things, Maria, without feeling anything. I don't feel bad about them, until you look at me and I remember that they would have done the same to _you_ and that makes me just like _them,_" he's crying and he tries hard not to turn away from her blue eyes, so beautiful, so piercing.

"You saved me," she says softly, as if this erases every man he has killed and tortured. "You couldn't have saved me if you weren't that way," she says again and he finds himself frowning, not understanding.

"What?"

"You had to be so brave to save me, Devlin," she says, taking a step forward, "I was so scared but you didn't feel _anything_ - you just did what had to be done to _save me_. It's not always a bad thing to be able to put aside your emotions," she says. Words she must have been thinking for a long time, because Maria is wise, not glib. She feels and see's things he does not.

"Would he have been happy that you had done that?" She asks softly, and they both know who 'he' is. Devlin shakes his head vigorously, because he has imagined a hundred times over what Voldemort would do if he found out. Even know, Devlin knows he is only forgiving him for it to make Devlin come back to him. Devlin has the upper hand right now and Voldemort is desperate not to have wasted so many years on him.

"He would have tortured me," he says past his dry and narrow throat. He still wonders if he will, if he ever got him alone again in a secluded place. Punishment isn't always meant to be everyone else's business.

"And what if you didn't do those bad things? Would he have been okay with you not wanting too do them?"

Again, he shakes his head. If his mind weren't whirling, if his chest wasn't pounding and aching, if part of him wasn't whispering that she was about to _forgive_ him and if the other part weren't so desperate and disbelieving that such a thing could happen, he might have been upset at her stupid question, but he's not.

"No, but he wouldn't have killed me," his hands are shaking, his lip is quivering, his insides are constricting and releasing, constricting and releasing, and he realizes quite suddenly that he is sobbing. "I killed men, but if I had refused, he would have only tortured me."

"Then why did you kill them?" And he looks up and there is no anger there in her brilliant blue eyes. No horror. No fear of him. She can see the blood on his hands and she's not afraid. Not screaming like he thought she had. Not pushing him away.

She's asking not because she thinks he is wrong, but because she actually wants to know what he had been thinking.

"They would kill him," he says softly. "Even if I didn't."

"Then there was no way to save him," she says, a statement that could just as easily be a question, so he shakes his head in answer and she nods so softly and kindly. "There was a way to save me, so you did. There was no way to save them, Devlin."

She reaches over to him and draws him into a hug and somehow it is so different than the hug that his mum or dad would give him. It is comforting without being constricting. It doesn't make him feel little, if anything it makes him feel older. He wraps his arms around her and breathes in her scent and a bit of that tightness in his chest releases.

"Sometimes you have to save yourself," she says in his ear. "I prayed and prayed you would save yourself, Devlin. I didn't want to lose you. I'm glad you did what you had to do and I know you wouldn't have done it if you hadn't had to."

She isn't forgiving his actions, he realizes, she is forgiving the situation he had been put in and he finds that much more reasonable. She is not denying that he would be capable on his own of doing those things, just that he _wouldn't_. Dad had compared it to a muggle with a gun to their head, but Devlin knows it hadn't been that way, and so does Maria. Because she isn't the parent he had been stolen from. _How must dad have felt? _He asks himself but he knows he's not ready for such a big 'in his shoes' question. He has more practicing to do.

"Do you know the charm to make it look like we haven't been crying?" He asks quietly, half a chuckle in his voice. She giggles into his ear and it almost tickles, but it feels so good.

"Yes, I do," she says and when they withdraw she is smiling and moments later it looks as if they hadn't been crying at all. She knows things he doesn't.

"Thanks," he says, rubbing at his dry eyes that still tingle despite the charm to hide the effects.

"You're welcome," she says in her light airy voice, her brilliant blue eyes lingering on his face but not right into his eyes. "You'd better get to Potions, huh?"

"Yeah. You're going to be late for Defense."

"I know. I'll just tell Remus I had to talk to a boy," she winks and Devlin chuckles.

"He'll still give you detention," he says, picking up his school bag.

"I know, but we'll spend it talking about you," and with that, she is turning on her heel, winking at him once, and leaving for the hallway. Devlin leaves a moment later, turning in the opposite direction.

**What do you think? I feel like something is missing, but really had a hard time writing this. Perhaps it's just because it didn't flow as well for me. **

**Upcoming: **

"Green...please just do this _discretely_ with me," he says, an edge of desperation in his voice. Green frowns and looks back down at the table, then to the board, and then to Devlin himself. Green isn't an stupid boy. He's actually very intelligent and now his eyes are widening in realization and Devlin is wishing he could slip away into some deep dark hole. He made Severus face one of his worst fears. How foolish had he been to think the man wouldn't make him face his own? This wasn't meant to harm him physically - this was meant to _expose_ him, at least to this potions partner.

**Please review! Don't you want to know what Snape is having them do?**


	18. An Unfair Class

First years aren't meant to learn about the Wolfsbane Potion, but Snape has all the ingredients out on the tables, ready to be cut. Devlin looks up at the board "An Introduction to the Wolfsbane Potion".

"The ingredients in this Potion will be on the test at the end of the year," Snape says to the class, a sneer permanently etching his face, "I expect you to know how to prep each ingredient."

Devlin growls lowly, because Snape knows very well there are ingredients here he can't touch without some discomfort and some absolutely noticeable redness. He can't pull out the gloves in his box, because there aren't _technically_ any dangerous ingredients, unless you're like him. Wolfsbane is a poison carefully mixed together to be just weak enough not to kill him. The raw forms of it's ingredients do not have the benefits from the other ingredients and so are simply poisons to him.

"Lets split the work," Devlin says to Green, who looks up, surprised at him.

"You want _me_ to touch your potion?" He says slowly, as if he's certain he's misheard.

"Yeah."

"You never want that," he says, just as softly and slowly.

"Green...please just do this _discretely_ with me," he says, an edge of desperation in his voice. Green frowns and looks back down at the table, then to the board, and then to Devlin himself. Green isn't an stupid boy. He's actually very intelligent and now his eyes are widening in realization and Devlin is wishing he could slip away into some deep dark hole. He made Severus face one of his worst fears. How foolish had he been to think the man wouldn't make him face his own? This wasn't meant to harm him physically - this was meant to _expose_ him, at least to this potions partner.

"Sure. Um, I'll take this, and this, and this, and this, and yeah, this one." He is choosing just the things Devlin himself can't touch, and it makes Devlin's stomach knot at the _proof_ that Green does understand. Silently, he slides one that Green hadn't remembered or known about, over to his side of the table, careful just to touch the glass bowl it is contained in. Green nods and gets out his things and Devlin does the same.

When Snape comes over to their table, there is a wickedly satisfied look on his face and in his eyes. Devlin looks away, but his body language is screaming: Yes, I feel punished.

Snape doesn't comment on their devision of the work, he simply sweeps past them and continues onto the rest of the room.

"Devlin?" Green asks, nudging him discretely.

"Yes?"

"Does this chopping look okay? I suck at chopping."

Devlin looks at the Aconite that Green is chopping, watching the purple-blue leaves turn into shreds.

"You have to drag the knife back, not pull it to the side. You're tearing them," he says, wrinkling his nose. Even the smell of the flower petals makes his vision swarm and his head ache. He's not sure if the smell of them truly can harm him, or it's merely his brain's worry that is doing it to him.

"You look positively pale, Mr. Potter," Snape says caustically as he passes them again. "Something not making you feel well?"

Devlin makes to respond, but his throat feels all funny, and all he manages is to make some disgruntled grunt of some sort.

"He didn't feel well waking up, sir," Green says. "Terribly sore throat. Wrote me a message that he'd be going to the nurse after Potions."

Devlin's eyes swerve to Green. His eyes are calm and blinking at normal speed and his chest is rising up and down neither too slow nor too fast. His fingers are still on his knife, but he's stopped chopping to look at the Professor. His shoulders...

Devlin shakes himself quickly, but it's no use, the fumes from all the wolfsbane are making part of him terribly dizzy. He knows his eyes must be amber and he shuts them quickly.

_No_, that other part of him is crying, turning in circles in desperate fear. One batch of this flower might have been one thing, but he's surrounded by them. Surrounded by poison.

"Mr. Potter?" And that voice is so cruel, those endless tunnels of obsidian probably so unforgiving. This is the man he had run to after he had escaped. This is the man who knew him best. Perhaps that's why he had wanted to push him away - because this is the one man that could probably capture him. The only man who knows how to hurt him.

He's swaying on his feet, although he feels marginally better with his eyes shut. At least now he can't see those petals all around him, the overwhelming smell of their perfume dancing in the air.

"Devlin?" That is Green's voice. Soft and close to him and trying desperately to warn him that he _must look now_ and this is all starting to look very _odd. _

He shakes himself again, lets himself sway once more, catches himself once more and then he does something he's never done before - he fights with his wolf. Locks him away like Remus does. Turns his ear to his desperate howling like that Healer must. Tries not to feel the mental claw marks as he digs up that valley. He wonders if this is what his father feels every time he faces Voldemort, because to Devlin it certainly feels like he is killing a part of himself in order to do what has to be done. There is a terrible ache in his chest.

"Sorry, Professor," he says and he opens his eyes. He hopes they are green. "Mr. Green is right. I woke up with a fever and a sore throat. I thought I'd see the nurse before lunch."

Those obsidian eyes are looking at him thoughtfully. Devlin shoves his hands inside his pocket to hide their trembling.

"And obviously you thought it just fine to go about your day infecting everyone else with whatever sickness you must have," Snape says, looking at him as if he were a flu soaked tissue that he were holding between his fingernails as far from himself as possible. "Since you have likely already passed your illness onto everyone in this classroom, I will let you decide if you can manage to finish the last half of class..."

Devlin frowns; Snape is just setting him up to look weak!

"I think I can manage. It's not too much of a challenge, sir."

Snape narrows his eyes and lets out one soft seething chuckle.

"Show more respect, Mr. Potter, or I will be inclined to make you and Mr. Green work separately."

Devlin shuts his jaw firmly, trying to not look too cowed. Because honestly, Snape knows what a ridiculously unthreatening threat that _should_ be, yet he also is intimately aware of how truly threatening it is to Devlin.

"Of course, sir. I meant no disrespect, sir."

Snape turns away from him, his cloak billowing behind him as he prowls up the aisle to his desk and takes a seat, looking out with imposing black eyes at the students.

"You and he having a row, or something?" Green whispers beside him.

"Yeah, something like that."

Green looks down at the ingredients again and then back at Devlin.

"Let's get this done as soon as we can - you look like you're getting more ill."

Devlin nods and they go about preparing all the items. They are done in record time, of course. Green is talented at Potions, even if Devlin is more so.

They lapse into silence, Devlin concentrating on breathing, Kendall pretending to read ahead in their textbook, until Snape comes to check their work.

"This will do, Mr. Green, Mr. Potter. I do hope you'll be able to know how to prepare all the ingredients for the test, Mr. Potter - it seems you and Mr. Green have split the work a bit...unevenly."

Devlin gives a sharp nod and begins packing his things away. He's at the door when he hears Fisher's ingredients being assessed as 'fantastic' and the boy putting his own things away. He swallows and tries to shove the disappointment aside.

They reach Transfiguration without delay. There is only one other student there, a boy from Gryffendor who he sometimes sees Maria hanging around. He has solid brown eyes that lend a kind of authority to his face, his hair parted haphazardly as if he weren't used to doing it by himself, his back is straight, hands folded atop the table, eyes staring forward. They swerve to Devlin and Kendall when they enter and while Devlin doesn't get the same sense from his eyes as he does from Snape or Dumbledore's, there is still _something _there. More introspective and less extrospective.

It's getting easier to breath, but he still finds himself having to concentrate on the ground before him more than he ever remembers. He wonders if this is how little Hugo feels running - an act the boy certainly _seems _to put a lot of concentration into. He sits down next to the boy, curious and sure this is where Maria will want to be. Green raises an eyebrow at the same time that Professor McGonagall does. The timing is so perfect that it was more than a little eerie and he wishes they could see it from his perspective. The boy is wearing a frown when Devlin looks at him next, but he doesn't speak and Devlin finds him even more curious because of this.

His brown eyes go back to facing the front of the class, a shift of his muscles the only thing that speaks of his desire to fidget. He won't let himself, Devlin can see, and he frowns, more intrigued.

"Hi," Devlin says, feeling awkward at having been put into the situation of speaking first. It's not usually something he has to do. The boy turns to him, as if he'd been waiting for this very thing, a pleasant smile on his face.

"Hello," he replies, a soft lilt to his voice that feels almost calming. He doesn't offer his name or hold out his hand or even spare him more of glance - he simply turns around again, as he didn't care. As if he had never heard of Harry Potter or Lord Voldemort. As if Devlin were just a normal boy to him.

"I'm Devlin," he continues, despite Green's regard that clearly says 'why are you even _bothering?'_. He's not sure why he is, in truth. It's a gut desire and like his Grandfather, those desires and instincts are _usually _right.

"Oh, hello Devlin," the boy says and that pleasant smile is quickly becoming rather annoying to Devlin.

"What is your name?" Devlin asks, an edge to his voice that the other boy couldn't be oblivious enough to miss, but seems to have found_ someway_ to continue smiling pleasantly anyways.

"I'm Elliot."

"Are you alway a man of little words, Elliot?" Devlin asks, making his voice falsely sweet. He chuckles at the end, to calm the Professor's now piercing gaze.

"Usually only when I am speaking to someone I think would rather not be seen speaking with me," Elliot says, that pleasant smile still in place, that voice as nice and calm as ever. Devlin blinks.

"Why wouldn't I want to talk to you?"

He looks Devlin up and down.

"Oh, I didn't say you wouldn't _want_ to walk to me. Just that you might not want to be _seen _talking to me."

"Why?" Devlin nearly growls, something about this boy is irritating him. He hates having his words picked apart. Later he might be able to look back at this and realize that he hates meeting people like him.

"I'm not entirely sure you'd want to know, but if you did...I wouldn't want to talk about it here." Elliot pauses and narrows his eyes. "Did you just come from Potions?"

It is such a jump in topic, executed so crudely but so smoothly, that Devlin cocks his head just a bit, his shoulders tensing with his impending temper. He takes a breath. Elliot doesn't want to talk about it _here_, he can respect secrets, so he'll let it drop for now. Not forever - the boy has made him curios. But the Potion's bit? How would he know? Did Maria tell him Devlin's timetable?

"Yes." He says, a bit hesitantly. Three more students have arrived, all Gryffendor's and they give Elliot an odd look.

"I was sick for the class. I heard they were studying the Wolfsbane potion. I had all my stuff ready to go to class, but then I got terribly sick." He is shuffling around in his bag. "Here," he says and holds out a small piece of fibrous material for Devlin to take. "You might want to suck on it, for your headache."

Devlin brings it to his nose.

"It's Mandrake root..."

"Hmmm, yes, it is." And Elliot's solid brown eyes are looking forward again. It is only when Maria sits on his opposite side, after giving Devlin a delighted smile, that the boys eyes move. Green is eying the root with skepticism, but Devlin puts it in his mouth. He's surprised when his headache starts to subside. The boy doesn't speak to him at all during the lecture, but Devlin grabs him during practicals as his partner, shoving Green towards Maria.

"Be nice!" He warns, the words coming as a low growl through his teeth. Green grumbles a bit, but he knows there is no stopping Devlin when he has that curious spark to his eyes, and walks over to the surprised Maria.

"Hello, Devlin," Elliot says in that same lilting voice. "Did you want to play?"

_Play_. It's the first word that has hinted at the boy having some potential, because weak people refer to it as 'practice', a reminder in itself to be gentle to them. Play is the word Devlin uses, because it all feels easy enough to be a game.

"Yes, I did. I wanted to play." Elliot gives him a toothy grin.

"Alright."

They assume their positions facing each other, seven steps away. They're practicing transfiguring small objects into shields. Today it is with clay, next year it will be with Talc and Gypsum rock. The projectiles are simply small balloons filled with dye that they are meant to lift magically into the air and propel against the clay shield. If they've made the clay too thin or skipped the hardening spell, the balloons will break through, and leave evidence.

"You go first," Devlin says, motioning towards the little balls full of dye. The boy handles his wand with a particular kind of grace - as if he can feel the minute differences in pressure and grasp it _just_ firmly enough. Devlin murmurs the spell to make the clay spread out into a thin shield and then the one to harden the clay. Elliot brings the first ball into the air and then flicks his wand. Other students around them are swinging their wands like bats, but Elliot doesn't need to be dramatic - the little dye filled ball lands with a hard _thwack_ against the clay. Devlin thinks it had just about broken through. He adds another hardening spell and they continue.

"_Switch,"_ comes the Professors voice booming across the class, and Devlin and Elliot brush past each other as they switch places.

Elliot's shield is just as hard as Devlin's, but Devlin can throw the balloons faster, stronger, and more accurately. He could break the shield - it is weakening in the spot where he has already hit it seven times, but then Devlin pauses for a moment. He thinks of Bowman.

His next balloon hits a different part of the shield and makes a large purple splash.

"Very nice boys," McGonagall says in her firm but kind voice, as she passes them. "You may return to your seats."

So they do.

"You didn't have to go easy on me," Elliot says softly when they are seated, before Maria or Kendall have returned.

"I didn't go easy," Devlin says, feeling a bit awkward. He had known? "I just didn't purposefully ruin your shield. Lots of other shield wouldn't have held up to what yours did."

Elliot eyes him for a while.

"I like to know my real limits," he says, his voice still calm and lilted, but the tone of it a bit more sharp, "if you want to play again, you'll do you're best and I'll do my best. You don't know that it would have broken for sure and neither do I - but I would have liked to know. You shouldn't think less of people without evidence."

Those sturdy brown eyes turn to stare ahead once more and leave Devlin blinking, quite unused to being talked to in that way. It is something Devlin would have said. Has said to his trainers.

"Absolutely," Devlin says softly and the boy nods, to show he'd heard and accepted. Devlin sits there, frowning, feeling something in his chest he can't remember feeling before - a sense of being put in his place by someone who he doesn't fear.

Even when Maria puts him in his place, or where she imagines his place is, Devlin complies with an edge of fear, because in some odd way, she scares him. Scares him like Mum scares Dad. Scares him because he doesn't want to disappoint her or scare her.

This is entirely different.

The bell rings and Devlin is just about to rise to keep up with Maria and Elliot, but Kendal has his hand in a vice-like-grip.

"He's not the sort you want to hang out with, Devlin," Green says softly, bending close so that he can't be heard. "He's not the sort _he_ would want to hear you hanging out with..."

Devlin feels something hot and thick boil right below his lungs and he turns to Green, ready to shove him against the wall and make it _very_ clear that he doesn't appreciate being given an order from _his_ sort, but something stops him. Professor McGonagall is still at her desk, blindly shuffling papers, her eyes resting intently on them.

'_Get away from me_,' he says in a soft hiss, only realizing he must have spoken Parseltongue when Green's eyebrow raises in confusion and the Professor shuffles a couple papers right off her desk in shock. It's happened to him once before, when he'd become too angry. Grandfather had found it amusing, months ago. Little Me pokes her head out of his pocket and McGonagall gives a little _yelp_.

"Mr. Potter! Come here right _now." _Green releases him and, perhaps grasping what his fate would have been, slinks out of the room while Devlin can't follow. Devlin walks as casually to the front of the room as he can.

"Yes, Professor?"

"Turn out your pockets, right now. Go on, onto my desk." Devlin lets himself scowl just little and pulls out his things one by one, until he reaches Little Me and then reaches into his pocket and deposits her on the table. He quickly, and very visibly, charms a shield around her.

"A snake?" The Professor asks, but Devlin knows she really isn't seeking an answer. She writes something on a parchment and then spells it into a plane and sends it flying into the hallway. "Sit down," she says softly, with that edge of control that made her Devlin's father's second most feared Professor.

"Did you write my father?" Devlin asks, feeling calm, because his father will support him, if only because he won't want to push Devlin away. Or make Devlin feel like he _has_ to be a Dark Wizard because he speaks to snakes.

"No, your Head of House."

Devlin feels his heart speed up and his mouth goes dry.

And now there is Severus Snape, in all his Dark Wizard gloom, standing at the doorway, his dark eyes endless tunnels, his lips curled into a disgusted sneer. Devlin swallows.

**Upcoming: **

**Snape's upper lip twitches in what looks like it was meant to be the beginning of a scowl. "You like to think of yourself as so mature, Mr. Potter, but in fact you are just like every other little boy who believes that it is only childhood keeping them from doing whatever they like. Tell me, when you grow up, will you get to do whatever you want? Will you stop being able to be controlled? Will size and age really mean that much?"**

A/N: **Sorry it's been so long. I've had some major writers block and I won't lie by saying it's gotten much better. I only have about a thousand words after this chapter. **

**What do you think of Elliot? I thought I needed to expand my characters a bit. **

**Did I do alright with Snape?**


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